


Somniphobia

by coffeeparadox



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Humor, Medic is Team Mom(TM) who wants him to sleep, Shpee is a tired boi, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 06:45:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeparadox/pseuds/coffeeparadox
Summary: Spy has just been transferred to a new base- and he's not exactly thrilled with the men he'll be fighting with. He's determined to keep a strictly professional relationship with his teammates. But as his personal vulnerability slowly grows, it begins affecting his performance on the battlefield. He may have no choice but to ask for help… and someone is not only trying to keep that from happening, but also allow Spy's weakness to ultimately consume him.(ON TEMPORARY HIATUS, PLEASE READ CHAPTER 17 FOR REASON)





	1. Antisocial

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy. Well, this is the first fic I've ever posted... Please comment and give constructive criticism! I really need it bois!!!

 

To be honest, this was all turning out to be entirely disappointing.

 

Spy had been hoping for a team of intelligent men, like himself. People that he could talk to without feeling as if he was conversing with a particularly unintelligent shrub. Perhaps, if he was lucky enough, someone he could share a smoke with.

 

Oh, how naive he had been.

 

Within seconds of walking in the base’s conference room, he got an earful of a very loud argument taking place about whether or not President Lincoln had been a world-conquering cyborg warrior.

 

“YOU ARE WRONG! ADMIT IT, YOU UNPATRIOTIC WORM!”

 

“Wouldya just shut up about it?! You're giving me a freakin’ headache, ya nutcase!”

 

 _Actually,_ Spy thought, _I believe I am the one with the headache._

 

The violent American man continued waving his arms about as if he was having a seizure, babbling about the ‘great warlord Lincoln’ and his ‘devastating hat cannon’ as Spy took his seat at the table. Everyone turned to look at him. Spy raised a hand and gave a small grunt of greeting.

 

He wasn’t going to give them anything to use against him anytime soon, even if it meant not saying anything beyond “excuse me”, “get on the objective”, and “which way to the bathroom”. Apparently they’d been expecting a more elegant greeting, because the look of astonishment on their faces was priceless.

 

Spy rested his head on his arms and closed his eyes. He didn’t plan on sleeping but it was far easier to get people to ignore you if they thought you were. As he predicted, the other mercenaries soon lost interest and began talking amongst themselves again. It took all his willpower not to run out of the room. It was crowded, and _someone_ in here stank of cheap booze, and the damned American _would not shut up_ -

 

His thoughts were interrupted as the door behind him slammed open, causing him to jerk his head up like a jack-in-the-box. A mountain of a man stood in the doorway, carrying an equally enormous gun. The size of him was enough that he had to both crouch slightly and turn sideways to fit through the frame. To Spy’s relief, he was followed by someone he was already familiar with- Miss Pauling, the Administrator’s assistant. And the small woman’s commanding presence instantly brought blissful silence to the room.

 

He would kiss her for it, but he'd lose a few teeth if he tried.

 

“Heavy is sorry,” Announced the new arrival in a thick Russian accent. “Train man would not let Sascha on train.”

 

He set the gun down on the table, causing the wood to tremble and groan from the weight. Spy was certain that if he tried to lift that thing, he would break his arms.

 

“Train man was dealt with.”

 

Miss Pauling sighed and pushed her glasses up her nose.

 

“Yes, and _I_ dealt with the resulting paperwork.”

 

The ‘Heavy’ frowned. “No one insults my Sascha.”

 

Miss Pauling let out another sigh. Spy felt a pang of sympathy for her. He knew how it felt to constantly deal with idiots.

 

“Right. Time to get down to business.”

 

Another thing he liked about Pauling- she was frighteningly efficient. She speedily handed each of the nine men a room key and a pamphlet that stated proudly on the cover, “WELCOME TO R.E.D.! WE OWN YOU NOW.”

 

“You get up at 7:00 am sharp. The battles are daily and begin at 8:00 am. No, you don't get a lunch break. Ceasefire is called at 4:45 pm. You get Sundays and Mondays off. You can go into town off the clock if you want, but don't kill anyone. If I have to fill out ONE MORE incident report…”

 

Her left eye was starting to twitch. The Heavy took a few steps away from her. Spy honestly couldn't blame him. After a few tense seconds, she took a deep breath and seemingly calmed herself.

 

“...battles start tomorrow. Your objective is to capture the control points. You'll be informed if that changes.” She paused, glancing down at her clipboard. “Right. That's everything. If you'll excuse me…”

 

She briskly strutted over to the side of the table opposite to the Spy and crouched down out of sight. When she stood back up, she held in her free hand a bottle of cheap whiskey. A quick glance under the table revealed the source- a very, _very_ inebriated black man lying face down on the floor.

 

Judging by the slurred complaints he was spitting out, he was very displeased at the theft of his drink. Unaffected by the drunkard’s abuse, Miss Pauling left the room, taking dainty sips of the alcohol on her way out.

 

Leaving the nine mercenaries sitting silent.

 

Seeing an opportunity to escape, Spy got up from his seat. Before he could open his mouth to give a bullshit excuse so he could leave, and possibly palm some painkillers from the infirmary to help his splitting headache, the man sitting at the very end of the table stood and beat him to the punch. He was tall and scrawny, with scruffy dark brown hair and a face full of stubble. Besides the standard Sniper uniform, he wore an old slouch hat, and for some reason, sunglasses.

 

Spy would have given him a pass since they were in the desert, if it wasn't for the fact that it was nighttime.

 

“Well, I’d best get m’van parked proper. Don’t wanna get towed.” The Sniper remarked with a heavy Australian accent.

 

It was an obvious lie. There wasn't even a designated parking area that he knew of, much less a tow truck willing to venture into what was essentially an active warzone. But an excuse was an excuse, and Spy wasted no time in jumping on it.

 

“Yes, we should all get settled.”

 

Noises of agreement filtered through the room.

 

“Excellent! Goodnight, gentlemen.”

 

Spy turned on his heel and walked out, closely followed by Sniper, who seemed just as anxious to get out. It seemed he’d have to delay getting that pain medicine if he didn’t want Sniper catching him.

 

Spy had brought his luggage in two neat little briefcases, which he quickly retrieved from where he’d set them outside the door of the conference room. He’d packed only the bare essentials- like clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, his notebook, and cigarettes. He’d never been stationed at such a remote base before, so he wasn't sure how he'd get his favorite brand out in the middle of nowhere. But he’d rather die than buy any foul-tasting gas station cigarettes. He was an addict, but he had _standards._

 

The room was dusty and clearly had not been used in some time, which confused him. Had this base not been in use before? He had heard rumours that nearby Teufort was the birthplace of the Gravel Wars… so why did the base seem so neglected?

 

 _Questions that will have to wait until later,_ Spy decided.

 

A dinky armoire with fading pink paint had been provided for him to store his clothes in. It didn’t take him too long to move all his clothes into it. Everything else was left in the suitcases, which he tucked under the armoire for safekeeping.

 

He stared at the bed for a long moment. He was so tired…

 

Maybe just a quick nap…?

 

....

 

_It was so dark. The only light came from his small campfire. With each passing moment, the light grew dimmer as the fire died, and he desperately searched for more fuel for the fire. But there were no sticks, or leaves, or even grass to fuel the rapidly shrinking flame, only the cold stone beneath his feet._

 

_There were things out there in the dark. If the light went out, he wasn't sure what they would do to him. The fire seemed to be the only thing keeping him safe. Sometimes, he would see a curious hand or claw or even a talon reach into the lit circle and then quickly retreat as if burned by its touch._

 

_He couldn't stay like this. He had to see. He had to know._

 

_He took a burning stick from the fire and tossed it into the dark. It cast even less light than his tiny fire, but it glowed just bright enough to reveal the monster._

 

_He'd never seen anything with so many eyes._


	2. Connashifuckmerdedick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to ILoveTeamFortressToo and MorpheusEnMemori for helping me proofread this chapter! I appreciate the help so much!!!

If you ever wondered what it would sound like to combine a number of French and English curses into the ultimate Franken-swear, look no further than the one Spy yelped upon awakening and finding himself tangled helplessly in the sheets. It took 5 seconds of blind panic and fruitless attempts to reach the gun on his nightstand before he realized it had only been a nightmare.

 

With a clearer mind, Spy managed to free himself and stand, dusting off his suit. If he had the products, he would scour this room from top to bottom with disinfectant. If another team had been stationed here before… well, when you leave nine men alone together in the middle of nowhere, _something_ worthy of a good bleaching will probably happen. He made a mental note to get some detergent and wash the bedsheets, just in case.

 

He checked his watch. 6:17 pm. He’d managed to get a good hour’s sleep. Spy tended not to sleep very well in new places… Force of habit, he figured. Better to be a light sleeper than a dead one.

 

His stomach gave a displeased grumble.

 

Ah, right. He hadn’t gotten lunch. Out here, every restaurant within a 100-mile radius was as southern as all get-out, and Spy couldn’t so much as look at the food without feeling greasy. Dinnertime at the base wouldn’t be nearly as structured as the meeting had been. He knew that from experience- without a set schedule to follow, teammates would usually default to their own routine. Not only could he get some food, but he could observe the others in a more ‘natural’ setting. And while there was the risk of him running into that obnoxious shouting man, he was willing to take it if it meant getting a proper look at his new allies.

 

With some caution, he unlocked and opened his door, looking left and right down the hallway as if preparing to cross a busy street. Once he determined no one was coming, Spy stepped out of his room and headed in the direction of the dining hall. Or, at least, the direction he assumed the dining hall would be in. He’d been to several different RED bases, and they all tended to have a similar layout. Luckily, he had been correct in his assumption- though Spy did end up having to take a few more turns than he was expecting. He walked into the dining hall with a bit more poise than he had in the conference room.

 

there were only four other mercenaries in the room- the drunken black man, the Heavy, a man wearing a medic uniform with impeccably combed brown hair, and the younger Boston-accented man he'd seen arguing with the loud American.

 

Upon further examination of the drunkard, he was horrified to discover the man had a myriad of explosives strapped to his chest. Their demoman, then. But who in the hell would trust a man that drunk with high-powered bombs?

 

“What are ye lookin’ at?”

 

Spy took a step back, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise, before catching himself and reverting to a mask of bored indifference and giving a noncommittal shrug in reply. _Was that a Scottish accent?_   Nothing about Demoman seemed to make much sense in the slightest. He decided to keep a safe distance away from him until further notice.

 

Spy silently made his way to the kitchen area and opened up a few of the cabinets. Most of them were filled with brands of cereal he was certain had been discontinued years prior, and crackers that mice had clearly gotten into. The food in the fridge was, luckily, far less out of date. Spy managed to find a box of instant rice in a cabinet and a few vegetables that seemed fresh enough from the fridge. It wasn't exactly high class cuisine, but he'd had worse.

 

As he poured the rice into a pot and set it on the ancient old stovetop to cook, Spy realized he’d drawn an interested party over with his activity.

Young, skinny, clearly built for speed. The Scout, he assumed. Scout was on his toes trying to peek over Spy’s shoulder, clearly curious. Spy felt an instinctive unease bubble up in him knowing that he had his back turned to a possible enemy, so he quickly turned to face the Scout.

 

“If you want some, do me a favor and cut up those carrots.”

 

Spy grinned as he saw the Scout jump slightly.

 

“Uh, um…” he seemed to debate it a moment before walking over to the counter, picking up a small knife and beginning to clumsily cut a carrot into misshapen wedges.

 

“ _Merci._ ” Spy inched a little further away as he took the knife. Better safe than sorry.

 

“Uh, I don’t speak fancy.”

 

“Thank y’ kindly, pardner,” Spy replied in a flawless southern accent, causing the other to laugh.

 

“You’re not as weird as I was expectin’...” He paused, thinking. “I’m the Scout!” He held out a hand to shake.

 

 _Hmmm... Not exactly intelligent, but friendly enough,_ Spy thought. He took Scout’s hand and gave it a shake, then moved on to cutting some celery.

 

“I mean, you kinda passed out at the meeting. You looked ready to keel over!” Scout continued. “What was up with that?”

 

Spy considered his response and decided to settle on a shrug.

 

“It’s alright, man. Not everyone is as great at introductions as me.”

 

And with that, in Spy’s mind, Scout went from a solid “enjoyable company” to “just about bearable”. He added the celery to the pot and briefly, silently mourned the death of his hope for a reasonably pleasant friendship.

 

The increased activity in the kitchen caught the attention of the man he reasoned was the Medic, who wandered over and, after another awkward exchange (he was clearly unused to speaking English and regularly switched back to German without realizing), ended up setting out plates and forks as Spy and Scout finished up the meal.

 

It was rather surreal and strangely domestic. Comfortingly familiar, and yet very strange at the same time.

 

 _I am preparing vegetables and rice for contracted killers,_ Spy thought to himself as he tossed in some salt and pepper. _I didn’t think my life would go off the rails this soon after getting here._ Spy had never really bothered to cook for anyone but himself before. Usually there was enough food around the bases to feed even the most inept cooks, but someone had clearly forgotten to send in a shipment.

 

Spy and Scout doled out the portions and began eating with the present mercenaries.

 

Surprisingly, it ended up being a pleasant affair. The Medic had a rather wicked and dark sense of humor that Spy found hilarious… Though he did make a note to try and not be alone in the same room as him. He didn't entirely trust the man not to steal one of his kidneys for shits and giggles.

 

While he was intimidating in appearance, the Heavy was a rather amiable man and a very good listener, judging by how long he managed to tolerate Scout’s narcissistic babbling before telling him to shut up. Another thing to remember- do _not_ piss off the Heavy. Then again, this was usually a rule in every team he’d been on.

 

The Demoman managed to get himself together long enough to gobble down most of his food and compliment Spy on his cooking before passing out again.

 

Mentally, Spy was busy tallying the mercenaries he’d been acquainted with so far, and what notes he’d taken down. He’d properly met about half the team. The others he would observe in battle. How a man fought tended to show a lot of his personality.

 

Spy cleared his plate and headed off to his room quickly, having gained the information he needed. Four men down, four to go. He’d been too fatigued during the meeting to properly ‘catalogue’ his teammates, but it wouldn’t take him long to fix that.

 

Spy stared at his bed for a long moment, feeling a subtle dread claw at his chest.

 

He took the covers off the bed and settled down for the night.


	3. First Blood

_Somewhere in the derelict factory, he could hear claws scraping against the rusty metal walls. The thick metallic scent of blood choked the air. Fluorescent bulbs gave off a sickly yellow, blinding light in every corner. They were seemingly the only part of the building not in a state of decay. He wished they were. He wished he couldn’t see the monster, so clearly defined under the artificial lights, its teeth thin and sharp like needles and gleaming with saliva. No matter how hard he ran, his body moved painfully slow, as if he were wading through a pool of molasses._

 

_He could hear it laughing somewhere behind him._

 

_The chase was on._

...

 

The supply shipment Spy had expected to replace the outdated food in the kitchen had arrived at around 4:00 AM, before anyone else was awake. He’d taken the liberty of unpacking box upon box of food and toiletries and putting them away.

 

Not much else to do when you’re the only one up.

 

Breakfast was tense and quiet. Everyone was holding their breath in anticipation of the coming day of battle. Except for Scout. It was painfully obvious that Scout couldn’t hold his breath for more than five seconds before letting it out and bragging about how long he’d held it.

 

 _Obnoxious, but consistent._ He had to give him that.

 

At about 7:45, the mercenaries all gathered up their equipment and met up in the spawn room. Spy could hear some of them discussing tactics amongst themselves, but Medic was the only one to approach Spy and ask what he was planning.

 

“I need to know where you will be,” he explained, “otherwise I can’t heal you.”

 

Spy had spent the hours before the others awoke thinking about this.

 

“I’m going to go after their Scout first. He’ll probably be over eager and race ahead of everyone else. An easy target to kill and replace.”

 

Medic nodded. “Sound planning! Good luck, _mein freund_ ! Give them _Hölle_ \- ah, Hell! ”

“The same to you, _mon ami,_ ” Spy replied with a small smile.

 

He could feel the nervousness and determination in the air. The whole team was ready to fight. Spy felt more excited than anything, though he didn't show it. If there was one thing that made him feel alive, it was the adrenaline of combat.

 

He saw the Pyro, fully decked out in their flame-retardant suit, shift their grip on their flamethrower. Spy swore he heard an unnerving giggle, muffled by the gas mask.

 

He shuffled a little further away from the Pyro.

 

**[MISSION BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS!]**

 

Spy double-checked his pockets for his sapper, balisong and revolver. His watch, several years old and damn near indestructible as it was, ticked away the seconds. His suit was crisp and clean and smelled faintly of fabric softener. Everything was perfectly in order.

 

**[MISSION BEGINS IN 30 SECONDS!]**

 

He flipped open his disguise kit and quickly located the enemy Scout in the disguise options- a thin, long-limbed man of South American descent. Mann Co. certainly didn’t discriminate when it came to hiring.

 

_He shouldn't be hard to spot._

 

Spy snapped the disguise kit shut and tucked it back into his breast pocket.

 

**[MISSION BEGINS IN 10…]**

 

He smoothed out the creases in the sleeves of his suit and set his feet apart to make his stance more grounded. Even he was starting to feel a bit nervous now. The first fight was always chaotic.

 

**[...9, 8, 7…]**

 

Hopefully these people were good at their jobs.

 

**[...6, 5, 4….]**

 

_Hell, even if they’re bad at their jobs…_

 

**[...3! 2! 1!]**

 

 _This is going to be_ **_fun._ **

 

**_[FIGHT!]_ **

 

All at once, everyone charged out the door with purpose- some split up, other clumped into small groups. Heavy and Medic notably made a beeline to the central point, which was situated on a wooden bridge covered with minecart tracks. Spy, however, booked it for the lower levels of the RED building.

 

The BLU Scout, he reasoned, would likely attempt to get into the building from beneath the bridge to access the upper exit, and surprise the REDs up top by rushing them from behind.

 

When Spy heard the telltale sound of sneakers pounding feverishly against the wooden floorboards, he knew he'd been right. Quickly, he turned on his cloak. Hidden from sight, he watched as the Scout dashed into the room, oblivious to his presence. Spy grabbed him and wrapped an arm around the BLU Scout’s neck, putting him in a headlock.

 

“ _Mierda!_ Let go, you slimy motherfu-”

 

Spy silenced him with a backstab, and the body fell limply to the floor. The adrenaline rush was wondrous, but otherwise, it was an unremarkable kill.

 

It would be difficult, his first disguise. He hadn't had time to pick up on any of the enemies’ personalities, habits, or mannerisms. But it was his best bet of catching at least one member of the BLU team by surprise.

 

He heard a floorboard creak and looked up to see a sheepish Sniper climbing down the stairs.

 

“Oh, uh, sorry mate, just… looking for someplace good to set up shop.” He spotted the body. “Oh. Oh! G...Good work. I'll just…”

 

Sniper dashed off, clutching his rifle to his chest like it was his most prized possession.  What was he, a Sniper, doing on the ground floor?

 

 _Looking for an entrance to somewhere higher_ , Spy reasoned. But still he felt a nagging feeling of unease. Paranoia, most likely. He disguised as the BLU Scout and jogged off to find a member of the BLU team. Seeing how they reacted to the presence of their “Scout” would help him to better play the part.

 

“I’m gonna ram this grenade down yeh bloody _throat!”_ Spy heard the Demoman shout from somewhere on the bridge above.

 

“Well _I’m_ gonna stuff this bloody bomb launcher up your **_ARSE_ **!” Screeched another voice in a contrasting English accent, presumably the BLU Demoman.

 

This exchange was, of course, followed by the sounds of excessive explosions and colorful cursing. The bridge rattled and shook from the force of the bombs. Spy was half-afraid that it would collapse as he ran under it, eyes scanning the area for BLUs.

 

 _There!_ He spotted the tail of a light blue lab coat disappearing around a corner into the BLU base building.

 

 _“Médico!”_ Spy called out in the BLU Scout’s mild Spanish accent. He’d heard just enough to do a passable imitation.

 

The BLU Medic walked back into view. He was short, solidly built, and probably the palest man Spy had ever laid eyes on. He didn’t say anything, just gave Spy an icy glare. He then made a rude gesture and ran off again.

 

Evidently, the BLU Scout was just as well-liked as his counterpart.

 

“Come on, doc! Don't leave me hangin’!” Spy picked up the pace to keep up as the Medic turned sharp corners with practiced ease and speed. He was obviously trying his damnedest to lose Spy in the winding corridors.

 

The BLU Medic flipped him off again.

 

 _Alright, for future reference,_ **_never_ ** _disguise as the Scout._

 

With a sigh, he took out his revolver and promptly shot the BLU in the leg, causing him to fall face-first onto the floor.

 

“Sorry about that,” Spy called out as he came closer. His disguise dissolved, and he was himself again. “It would’ve been quicker if you’d stopped, but…” Spy shrugged.

 

No screaming, no calling for help, just a deadpan stare in reply. Spy saw the Medic reach for his syringe gun and before the other man could even touch the handle, he shot him through the head.

 

 _Right, time to move on._ He disguised as the dead Medic and rushed off to hunt for another BLU.

 

…

 

The REDs won the day in the end. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and covered in the red sand that filled the Badlands.

 

The teammates Spy had wanted to observe on the battlefield were rather uninteresting. The Engineer stuck too closely to plans made before the battle and had trouble improvising. The Sniper was skilled, he'd seen the man drop several BLUs from a good distance, but he had yet to find the good sniping spots. The Pyro burned everything, and the Soldier blew up everything, and that about summed the both of them up.

 

As for Spy himself, he had died too many times to the enemy Sniper for his liking. It was strange, really. After the first few deaths, he’d been scanning the rooftops and high windows for any sign of him, but he never seemed to spot the BLU.

 

...

 

“Spy…?”

 

.......

 

“Herr Spy…?”

 

............

 

“Are you alright _mein freund_?”

 

Spy blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes.

 

“You were just standing there staring off into space… Did you get enough sleep last night?” Medic asked, a concerned look etched on his face.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Medic frowned. “I doubt that. You’ve got dark circles a _waschbär_ would envy!” He huffed.

 

“...What’s a _wash-beer_?”

 

“ _Ach,_ you know, a _waschbär!_ ” Medic used his hands to mime a mask around his eyes. “The little rodents that eat garbage!”’

 

“You mean a _raton laveur…?_ A raccoon?”

 

 _“Ja!”_ Medic snapped his fingers as he remembered. “A rat-coon! You look like a rat-coon!”

 

“I assure you, I am no ‘rat-coon’, nurse.”

 

Medic put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “And Ay aym no nurze, _mawn-seer!”_ He replied in a terrible mockery of Spy’s accent.

 

“Of course, how could I have forgotten,” Spy said with a smirk as he pulled out a cigarette. “You’re not nearly attractive enough to pass for a nurse.”

 

The Medic threw his head back and let out an honest-to-god cackle.

 

“I don’t think I can top that without saying some less-than savory words about your mother… And I’d rather not stoop that low.” He began to walk away, headed towards the bathrooms. “Get some sleep!”

 

“I will, I promise.”

 

…

 

Spy skipped dinner that night. He’d missed two dream entries now. He had to fix that.

 

He pulled out the box he’d received from the supply shipment and cut open the tape with his balisong. Inside was a stack of magazines almost five inches thick. There were some from each genre- gardening, hunting, housekeeping, tabloids, fashion… There were even a couple of “adult” magazines.

 

He pulled out a small bottle of glue, scissors, and his notebook. Flipping to the first blank page, Spy thought for a moment before grabbing a sewing magazine from the pile, and carefully cutting out all the images of needles.

 


	4. A Watched Man

Like the RED base, the rest of the Badlands battleground was similarly neglected. Discarded paint cans and rolls of wallpaper left in the wooden buildings led Spy to believe this was once intended to be a small settlement before it was commandeered by Mann Co. While they were obviously newer, the base and respawn complexes seemed like they had been suddenly abandoned as well. Spy couldn’t speak for the BLU base, though, so perhaps it was just the previous RED team that had upped and left so rapidly.

 

Every movement in the older wooden buildings caused the floorboards to creak and groan unless each step was precise and planned. Excluding his counterpart, Spy doubted any of the BLUs had the skills to do this, so Spy felt a certain sense of safety knowing it was near impossible for anyone to sneak up on him, at least in the older buildings.

 

So why did he feel like he was being watched?

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up the second he went on the battlefield in the following days. Going into a building only made it worse. Spy could feel eyes on him, but every time he turned around, there was no one there. Logically, it had to be the BLU Spy. A Spy’s job was to observe, to watch, then to strike when least expected. And yet hunting down and killing the BLU Spy didn’t relieve his paranoia.

 

The poor bastard must have been incredibly confused as to why his counterpart was suddenly targeting him. Spy quickly realized that the BLU was not the source of his irrational fear and eventually stopped. His fear was beginning to transform into frustration. Where the hell was this feeling coming from?

 

On Friday, he got his answer.

 

…

 

The BLU Demoman had been a pain in the rear end for the whole match. He’d been on a particularly destructive rampage for a good hour in an attempt to one-up the RED Demo, even killing some of his own teammates by accident. Both BLU and RED were thoroughly sick of him. Due to his general… explodey-ness… few had dared attempt to end his reign of bloodshed, swearing, and general unpleasantness. Those who had, ended up on the walls, ceiling, floor, and just generally splattered on every nearby surface. Needless to say, RED was on the defensive.

 

“You're a Spy, aintcha? Just sneak out there n’... y’know…” Engineer drew a line across his throat.

 

“For someone who kills people for a living, you're awfully shy around the topic.” Spy said with a small smirk as an explosion went off somewhere outside, followed by a pained scream.

 

Engineer threw up his hands. “I don't do the killin’, partner. My machines do.” He gestured towards the turrets defending the point.

 

Spy sighed. “I'll see what I can do.”

 

Before the Engineer could reply, Spy had rushed off into a side hallway that led into one of the larger wooden houses.

 

“Goddamned snake. Can't just be straight about anythin’.” Engineer muttered.

 

Spy could see the BLU Demo from where he stood- locked in combat with the Medic-backed RED Heavy. If memory served, the most recently killed BLU had been their Soldier. So he was a safe bet for a disguise. Spy opened his disguise kit-

 

A small shower of dust fell on his shoulder.

 

He looked up.

 

There, staring at him from between the ceiling boards, were two bright, gleaming green eyes.

 

 

 

Spy froze completely still, every muscle in his body motionless. For a few terrifying moments, he forgot to breathe.

 

 _It's the monster,_ He heard his own childhood voice whisper in his ear. _It's real. It followed you into the real world. Maman lied, it can_ _hurt you._ ** _It's going to kill you and you won't come back._**

 

Then the eyes suddenly disappeared. Spy heard movement in the ceiling as the thing scurried away. Spy sank to the floor, sucking in huge gulps of air. His body shook slightly, his own eyes still locked on the ceiling. A million thoughts flashed through his head so rapidly he barely had time to process them.

 

Spy pulled himself to his feet jerkily, like a marionette. His face was blank. _Think about it later. Do your job. Do it. Get out there and do. Your. Job._

 

Spy stumbled out into the open, swaying drunkenly for a few steps before righting himself.

 

_Everything is fine. You’re fine._

 

The RED Medic and Heavy stared at Spy in confusion. The BLU Demoman seemed excited at the prospect of an easy kill, but Spy cloaked before he could so much as take aim.

 

“...where the hell-”

 

Before the enemy Demoman could finish, Spy uncloaked in front of him and embedded his knife into the BLU’s throat with a wet thunk.

 

Gasping and gurgling, the BLU Demo fell to his knees, pawing desperately at his throat.

Spy stared.

 

He fell over onto his back and his legs kicked weakly.

Spy stared.

 

He stopped moving.

 

Spy looked up and green eyes stared back at him from a high window.

 

A rifle fired with a deafening crack, and the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUNNNNNNnnnnn
> 
> also bonus points to whoever finds the double entendre ;P


	5. Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoe don't do it

_ “They’re only real in this book. They can't hurt you in the real world.” _

 

_ He looked down at the monster depicted on the page, crudely assembled from magazine clippings. Dried glue coated the page and the creature’s various parts were very poorly cut out, but it still caused a slight hitch in his breath when he looked at it. His mother glared angrily at the thing that dared torment him. _

 

_ “Are you sure?” _

 

_ “Of course I’m sure. Sleep is nothing to fear.” _

 

_ He leaned his head against her side and she gently carded her fingers through his hair. _

 

_ "Je t'aime, maman.” _

 

_ “Je t'aime aussi, mon petit chaton.” _

…

 

By the end of the battle, Spy was a mess. He hadn’t gone into the wooden buildings again after the incident. This led to an embarrassing string of deaths due to increasingly amateurish mistakes. Eventually, he gave up and found a quiet nook in the spawn room and sat there smoking until the battle concluded.

 

The Heavy cornered him in the evening before he could beat a hasty retreat to his room. The huge man’s brow was furrowed in concern.

 

“You act strange. Doctor was worried.” Heavy said simply.

 

“Ah, apologies. I hit my head on something and I had a difficult time recovering.”

 

The Heavy frowned. “You are not lying,  да ?”

 

“Of course not!” Spy said with a casual smile.

 

“Fine. Do not worry doctor again. He say you need sleep.” Heavy leaned down till his face was inches from Spy’s. “Listen to doctor or I make you sleep. You will not wake up. Understand?”

 

Spy nodded and gave a thumbs-up for good measure. Heavy huffed and wandered off. Spy headed towards his room and considered the day’s events as he walked.

 

_ Better lay low for a while.  _ Medic, Heavy, and the BLU Demo had been the only ones to witness his lapse in stability, but there was no guarantee any of them would keep it to themselves. And that was without considering the  _ fourth _ observer. 

 

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine at the thought. Green eyes. That was all he had seen. Who did he know that had green eyes?

 

There was Miss Pauling, obviously, but while her eyes were very similar, the image of her crawling around in the attic space was ridiculous, plain and simple. She was a dangerous woman for sure, but not dangerous in  _ that  _ way.

 

The BLU Heavy had green eyes, but even without considering his large (and far from stealthy) frame, his eyes were an entirely different shade of green. The RED Sniper wore tinted glasses all the time so it was impossible to accurately tell what color his eyes were, but he’d been nothing but friendly since Spy had first met him. It was impossible to tell the eye color of either of the Pyros, so no clues there.

 

The only one left to consider was the BLU Medic. He was quiet enough and a fast mover, not to mention his eyes were just about the right color. He seemed like the most likely suspect, but there was no discernable reason for him to follow Spy around.

 

As much as Spy hated to consider it, it seemed that he'd have to try and catch another glimpse of his spectator on Saturday, the last day of battle before the two-day break. It was the most direct way to get more information. With a soft sigh, he opened the door to his room. He was craving another cigarette. He reached into his pocket…

 

“... _ putain de merde.” _

 

He was completely out.

 

…

 

Spy waited until it was near midnight to head to the dining hall, not wanting to run into Medic and be forced to explain himself. He had expected to have the room all to himself, so he was very surprised to see Sniper standing off in a corner, nursing a mug of coffee. Sniper looked up at Spy with mild surprise.

 

“Oh, h’lo. What’re you doing up this late?” A smile crossed his face that for some reason made Spy feel unsettled.

 

“I could ask you the same question.”

 

Sniper snorted and took a sip.

 

“You got me there, mate.” He said with a chuckle.

 

Spy headed over to the kitchen and managed to put together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Anything to get him out as soon as possible.

 

“So, uh, I heard from Medic that you kinda got a little crazy out there.”

 

_ So, Medic has been running his mouth.  _ Spy had been hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spy said through a mouthful of his sandwich.

 

Sniper frowned. “He just said you were acting a bit weird, that’s all. Don’t tell him I told you, eh? He’ll kill me.”

 

Spy shrugged.

 

“You sure do that a lot.”

 

“What can I say, it’s an expressive gesture.” Spy finished up his food and stood up, heading to the door.

 

Sniper shrugged and laughed a little at the irony. “Heh, guess you’re right.” he paused, and Spy saw that same unsettling smile. “Sweet dreams.”

 

“G… Goodnight.” Spy replied, caught off guard.

 

Spy watched through the corner of his eye as the Sniper’s gaze followed him out the door.

 

He didn’t dare lay in his bed. He knew his sleep would be nothing more than a barrage of nightmares.

 

…

 

The next morning, Spy found himself dragging his feet as he made his way to the spawn room. Every muscle in his body seemed to ache and his mind screamed at him for not sleeping. But he had little regret. Spy hated being watched, hated the feeling of helpless fear that it conjured. What kind of monster would his mind have created within his nightmares while knowing he was being observed so closely in the real world?

 

Whatever it might have been, he doubted he would have been able to cut out enough eyes from his magazines to depict it.

 

Spy’s thoughts were foggy, but through the haze of fatigue he managed to formulate a simple plan.

 

Find the BLU Medic. Ask politely if he’d been stalking him. If he said no, kill him normally and move on. If he said yes, intimidate the Medic into leaving him alone. If he didn’t care to answer, beat him with a blunt object.

 

_ No, no.  _ Spy shook his head lightly and rubbed his temples.  _ I can’t do that. There aren’t any suitably sturdy chairs to use. _

 

Spy felt someone place a hand on his shoulder and he whirled around, hand fumbling for his gun.

 

_ “Was ist lus?”  _

 

Spy blinked. “...what?”   
  


Medic blinked back, confused, before suddenly realizing his mistake. “Oh! I mean, what’s the matter?”   
  
Spy lowered his hand from his gun holster. He felt anger boiling in his gut. Medic had taken his moment of weakness and treated it as common  _ gossip. _

 

“I know something happened to you yesterday, but you don’t have to tell me anything about it. I do think you need to get some rest though. You look like you can barely stand!” Medic said, gesturing to Spy. He wasn’t lying- Spy’s normally tall and proud posture was instead slumped and tired.

 

Spy crossed his arms and scowled. “I don’t need your advice,  _ nurse. _ _ ” _

 

Medic scowled back and pointed an accusatory finger at Spy’s chest. “Listen to me! If you don’t sleep, you’ll just be dead weight on the battlefield. I know you’re better than that!”

 

**[MISSION BEGINS IN 30 SECONDS!]**

 

Spy smacked Medic’s hand away. “Then don’t gossip about me.”

 

Medic tilted his head slightly to the side, baffled. “ _ Vas?  _ Gaw-sip?”   
  


**[MISSION BEGINS IN 10…]**

 

“Gossip! Spreading rumors.”

 

**[...9...8...7…]**

 

“I’ve done no such thing!”

 

**[...6...5...4…]**

 

“Then how did Sniper know what happened yesterday?” Spy snapped.

 

**[...3! 2! 1!]**

 

“What are you talking about? I haven’t spoken to Sniper since breakfast yesterday!”

 

**[FIGHT!]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god


	6. Pandemonium

At the Administrator’s call, the RED team surged forward, except for Spy.

 

To him, it seemed as if the world was suddenly moving in slow motion.

 

He turned his head, trying to spot the Sniper.

 

To make eye contact.

 

To ask for an explanation.

 

To do something.

 

_ Anything. _

 

But Sniper was already gone.

 

As the world began to speed up again, he saw Medic heft up his medigun and shoot Spy one last worried look before rushing off after his allies. Spy stood still, alone now in the spawn room.

 

One of them had lied.

 

Who had it been?

 

Either Medic had lied to save face, or Sniper had lied to cover up where he’d actually heard about the incident. Both were reasonably solid.

 

Spy could feel the nicotine withdrawal setting in. His head pounded in rhythm with the sound of his footsteps as he jogged out of the spawn room. He blinked once, twice, three times to clear his vision.

 

Stick to the plan.  _ Find the BLU Medic. _

 

Spy stumbled out into the open battlefield, cloaking quickly to avoid being spotted. Like the first day of battle, he was looking for that light blue lab coat. He wandered around, hiding behind rocks and ducking into buildings whenever his cloak ran out.

 

The BLUs had planned their initial strike well, and with RED’s comparatively disorganized status, It wasn’t long before they had been pushed back to their second point. The metal circle marking the point was placed on a wooden platform atop a short rocky spire, with a narrow spiral path leading to the top.

 

Heavy had become separated from the others, and the Demo and Pyro were unleashing destructive chaos in his place at the point, backed by Medic. The duo had apparently discovered that if Demo launched a bomb, Pyro could light said bomb on fire and cause it to explode in mid-air. This, of course, resulted in what could be called a weapons-grade fireworks show. 

 

It was actually rather impressive. Scout certainly seemed enraptured- apparently to the point of accidentally getting blown up by the BLU Demo, who was trying to duplicate the strategy sans his Pyro.

 

It wasn’t working..

 

Spy, meanwhile, was growing steadily more frustrated. Either the BLU Medic was strangely elusive, or Spy was even more tired than he’d thought. Every time he’d track the doctor down, the man would round a corner and disappear into thin air with the skill of any practiced spy.

 

Spy retreated a safe distance from the action and took refuge in a small nook behind the larger of the wooden houses on the RED side of the battlefield to collect his thoughts. He leaned his back against the wall and pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead.

 

He couldn’t breathe.

 

_ The smell of rust. _

 

He felt nauseous.

 

_ The sound of heavy machinery. _

 

Spy blinked a few times. He stomped his feet heavily on the ground as he paced in frantic circles, gripping the fabric of his striped scarf like a lifeline. He slowed, then stopped. Better. Not good, but better.

 

Feeling a little more optimistic, he crept out towards the battlefield and surveyed the ongoing battle.

 

The best word for it in English would probably be “clusterfuck”.

 

The heavies were locked in what appeared to be a bare-knuckle boxing match with Medic looking on in abject horror. The pyros and demomen were having a “firework” competition while Scout (having learned his lesson) cheered them on from a safe distance. Soldier was firing errant missiles everywhere, and the engineers were shouting increasingly nonsensical southernisms at their respective teams. The BLU Soldier and Scout, however, were oddly absent.

 

Spy spotted his counterpart uncloak behind one of his teammates once or twice, but he was beaten back every time by the sheer ferocity of the fight. Amusingly, the BLU disguised as Spy himself in one last attempt to get in a backstab, but was instantly blown up by the RED Soldier because “he didn’t look like he’d woken up on the wrong side of the croissant”.

 

Spy carefully scanned the battlefield and finally spotted his quarry- the BLU Medic, alternating the healing stream of his medigun between the BLU Pyro and Demoman, apparently having given up getting anywhere close to his team’s Heavy. His gaze kept flickering away from the battlefield towards the buildings, as if he was thinking about doing something else. Spy smiled slyly and cloaked, silently making his way to the unaware Medic. He carefully skirted around the other dogfights until he was right behind him, then uncloaked. Spy raised his arms to grab him. 

 

**“The point has been captured!”**

 

The BLU Medic straightened and began to turn around, likely about to follow his team to the final point. Spy quickly cloaked and backed away.

 

And a bullet shot through the Medic’s head, embedding itself in Spy’s leg.

 

Spy bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out and pressed a hand to the wound as his cloak disappeared. He looked up and around and quickly spotted the RED Sniper on a low balcony on one of the wooden buildings in front of him. He looked frustrated and angry.

 

_ Why is he upset? It’s not like he…  _

 

Spy’s eyes widened in shock.

 

_...missed. _

 

Sniper glared in Spy’s direction for a moment or two before realizing he’d been spotted. He smiled that same disquieting grin that made something in Spy’s chest twist in discomfort.

 

Sniper gave Spy a mocking little wave and raised his gun, ready to fire again.

 

Instinct kicked in and Spy made a mad dash for cover. Pain shot up through his leg and he let out a soft hiss through his teeth. Spy took his hand away from the bullet hole to fumble with his watch, managing to reactivate the cloak. He heard another shot go off just as he dove behind a large rock.

 

_ Sniper was trying to shoot me on purpose!  _

 

The contradicting stories. The tinted glasses. The green eyes.

 

It had to be him.

 

If Sniper’s goal was to kill him, then his reason for watching him was far simpler than Spy had originally speculated: Sniper was simply keeping a close eye on his target, like any sensible assassin.

 

But why? Death here wasn’t permanent. Killing Spy did little more than sideline him for four, maybe five minutes. Was it some kind of game to him? Was there a personal reason? The mountain of questions seemed to only grow larger with every second. Spy needed more information.

 

Now with a clearer objective, Spy felt a little more sure of himself. The details would come soon… But first, he had an injury to attend to. He pulled himself to his feet, wincing. 

 

**“YOU FAILED!”** **  
  
**

_...well, that explains where the BLU Soldier and Scout were. _

_... _

 

Two more abysmal rounds of point capture and a humiliation round later, no one was in a mood to chat. The end of a win streak tended to take a particular toll on the narcissistic. Even Scout couldn’t be bothered to talk.

 

Spy saw Medic coming towards him, looking just as worried as he had at the beginning of the day.

 

_ Walk away, don’t make eye contact, I am  _ **_not_ ** _ doing this today. _

 

“Herr Spy-”

 

“I’m going to bed. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

 

Medic paused. “But about this morning…”

 

“It’s nothing. I was mistaken.” Spy made a dismissive hand gesture and took a right down the hall to his room before Medic could respond.

 

He had more important things to think about.

 

There were a few ways to deal with what had happened.

 

Snoop around for information, as was his speciality or plan a direct confrontation. 

 

Choices, choices.

 

Suddenly, a strong hand grasped a fistful of Spy’s scarf. With one swift tug, Spy was roughly jerked backwards against his attacker’s chest, and he felt the edge of a serrated hunting knife press against his throat and hot breaths on the back of his neck.

 

“Don’t. Move.” Sniper growled.

 

“Wha-”

 

“Shut up.” The knife pressed harder into his skin. “Listen, frog. I know you saw me today… you know what’s goin’ on, eh?”

 

Spy swallowed. “I… I have an idea.”

 

“Then we need to come to an… _understanding..._ It’s simple, really. If you show up in my scope, I will shoot you.”

 

“But we’re on the same team!”

 

“I don’t give a shit. Spies are better off dead than on the battlefield, RED or BLU. You’re all the damn same slimy backstabbing crooks to me.”

 

“And what if I tell the others?”

 

Sniper laughed. “Oh-ho-ho, that’s cute. Who would believe you? Poor, awkward Sniper, targeting his own teammate? They’d think you were crazy.” The knife slowly trailed up Spy’s neck and over his chin until the blade rested on his lower lip. “Besides, if I really wanted to…” The knife dug into Spy’s lip, blood dribbling down his chin. “I could make your life hell in  _ other  _ ways.”

 

He then roughly shoved Spy away, who stumbled forward. Spy turned to look as Sniper walked off in the opposite direction.

 

“Keep quiet, stay out of my way, and that head of yours will stay on your shoulders.”

 

Spy didn’t think twice. He dashed to his room and slammed the door behind him with a loud bang that echoed in his skull, bracing his back against it as if to stave off another attack. After a few quiet moments, the adrenaline rush wore off, and he almost seemed to deflate as he walked to his bed on unsteady feet and collapsed onto the mattress.

 

The last thing he saw before sleep overtook him was the dream journal on his nightstand.

 

...but hadn’t he hidden it under the armoire that morning?


	7. Ultimate Fuckup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello naughty children it's time for pain

_ It was strange how quiet a forest could be in winter, as if the snow had stolen its voice. No rustling leaves, no singing birds, not even the wind. All noise was hushed, and he loved it that way. Sitting under the shadow of a tree, favorite coat and scarf drawn snugly around him, the chill air burning his lungs… There was no better place to be.  _

 

_ He closed his eyes and leaned back to rest against the trunk, but instead fell on his back into the snow with a crunch. _

 

_ But… If he wasn’t under a tree… Where was the shadow coming from? _

 

_ He opened his eyes and looked up. _

 

_ A pitch black shadow in the shape of a man looked back. _

 

_ It had massive wings like a butterfly, colored a dull brown like the bark of a dead tree, except for the two green circles with black centers on its upper pair. _

 

_ The eyes of his observer stared back at him from the monster’s wings. _

 

 

…

 

When Medic went to the dining hall to investigate the noises that had woken him up, he the last thing he was expecting to see a haggard looking Spy staring blankly at a plate of burnt scrambled eggs at three in the morning.

Spy’s mask was pulled only halfway on, and some tufts of curly red hair poked out from underneath the rumpled hem. Tear tracks ran down Spy’s face, and Medic could hear the hitch in his breath from barely-contained sobs. He sat down beside Spy, careful not to make much noise so as not to startle him. Medic noticed a scabbed cut on Spy’s lower lip that hadn’t been there the previous night. He’d probably just nicked himself shaving.

 

“...Spy?”

 

Spy jumped slightly in his seat. It took him a moment, but once he realized someone was actually there, he quickly and roughly rubbed the tears from his face.

 

“Were you… crying?”   
  


“No, no! No.” He sounded like a chastised child.

 

“Do you need anything?”

 

It was strange, seeing such an aloof man so vulnerable. Spy clearly hadn’t been expecting to get caught like this. He reached up and pulled his mask down, then smoothed out the wrinkles. Spy took a deep breath. “ _Non,_ I’m… I’m alright.”

 

Medic raised his eyebrows.

 

“I am!” Spy insisted.

 

Medic crossed his arms, eyebrows still raised.

 

“I… I just had a hard time sleeping last night.”

 

“ _ Just _ last night?” Medic’s eyebrows looked as if they might escape his forehead.

 

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

 

Medic sighed, shaking his head. “You know, I’m not a… a…” He paused. “Mind-doctor?”

 

“Psychologist?”

 

“ _ Gesundheit _ .”

 

Spy laughed, quiet and slightly hoarse.

 

“As I was saying, I’m not an expert in… ah…  _ this  _ kind of problem,” Medic continued, gesturing vaguely towards Spy. “But if you ever want to talk, I’ll listen.”

 

“Like I said… I’d rather not.”

 

Medic gave him a reassuring pat on the back, but quickly pulled his hand away when Spy flinched at his touch. “Ah, that’s fine. I can at least get you a sleep aid!”

 

“No thank you.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

Spy nodded. Satisfied with a job well done and a social situation skillfully navigated, Medic got up. “I’ll be going back to bed then.” He headed for the door with a confident stride.

 

“Medic?” Spy called out, voice shaking slightly.   
  


He stopped.  _ “Ja?” _

 

“...never mind. It’s nothing.”

 

Now more reluctant to leave, but still drawn by the pull of sleep, Medic smiled softly and gave Spy a small wave before retreating to his bed.

 

Spy watched him go, then began to eat the now cold scrambled eggs.

 

...

……

………

 

_ you should have told him _

 

Spy looked around for the source of the voice.  _ His own  _ voice.

 

No one was there.

 

Not the first time he’d hallucinated from a lack of sleep.

 

_ not the first time you’ve tried pills _

 

Spy’s stomach turned. He stood abruptly, picking up his plate and dumping the unfinished contents into the trash.

 

…

 

The hallways were as empty as they always were at such an early hour, but Spy couldn’t help but look over his shoulder every few steps. Even though he knew Sniper preferred to sleep in the camper van that was now a permanent fixture beside the base, it was still unnerving having to set up residence in a room adjacent to a man who had no qualms admitting that he would kill you given the opportunity.

 

Not exactly comforting knowledge. That, and he knew for a fact that Sniper had a sleep schedule similar to his own.

 

Spy picked up the pace when he spotted his room.

 

The door to Sniper’s room creaked open.

 

Spy broke into a jog and skidded to a stop at his door, hands quivering as he fumbled with the key-

 

“Fuck. Thought it might’ve been you.”

 

Spy looked up and made eye contact with the Sniper, who sneered disdainfully back. He was holding an empty box in his arms. Had he been moving things into the room?

 

“I thought spies were supposed to be sneaky?”

 

Spy’s free hand instinctively went for a watch that wasn’t there. To disappear. Or, better yet, melt silently into the floor. Sniper scoffed and closed the door behind him.

 

“The walls ain’t exactly soundproof, y’know.” Sniper remarked, rapping his knuckles against the wall in demonstration. “I can hear everythin’.”

 

“I… I thought you slept in your van..?”

 

“Eh, I like to keep some junk in this room.” He smirked. “An’ just so you know…” He walked towards Spy, backing him up against the door. Spy jammed the key into the lock with frantic speed, but Sniper grabbed his arm before could turn the knob. When he turned his head, Sniper’s face was inches away, grinning madly.

 

He was too close. Spy couldn’t get his balisong.

 

_ “You scream like a girl.” _

 

In a moment of desperation and panic, Spy punched Sniper in the stomach as hard as he could with his free hand, knocking the wind out of him.

 

_ Mon dieu, I fucked up mon dieu I fucked up merdé mon dieu  _ **_I fuCKED UP_ **

 

Spy stammered out an apology in broken english and wrenched his arm out of Sniper’s grip, rushing inside his room and locking the door behind him. 

 

His blood ran cold as he heard the Sniper start to laugh breathlessly, deep and rumbling like distant thunder, and then footsteps, retreating down the hallway.

 

“See you on Tuesday,  _ mate _ .”

 

Spy buried his face in his hands despairingly.

 

_ How do I get myself into these situations? _

 

He looked up… and his eyes locked on the dream journal on his nightstand. Spy hadn’t registered it that morning, tired as he was. A shiver ran up his spine.

 

But… he’d hidden it. The door was locked.

 

Had it been Sniper? Did he know how to pick a lock? An unnerving thought, to be sure.

 

The journal was on the nightstand last night, now that he thought about it. It hadn’t moved since then. But Sniper couldn’t have possibly gotten inside and left without Spy spotting him… could he?

 

Spy walked over to his nightstand and picked up the journal, leafing through the dog-eared pages with care. All the same. No new rips, stains, marks, nothing. Why would the intruder leave the journal in such an obvious place?

 

To send a message.

 

_ “I can get in anytime I want. You are never safe.” _

 

Seemed like the kind of intimidation tactic Sniper would use. Crude, but effective.

 

_ not so tough without claudie to protect you, huh _

 

_ those circles under his eyes make him look like he’s wearing makeup _

 

_ what a fairy _

 

Spy shook his head as if trying to dislodge the voices. He knew what to expect, or rather, who to avoid. As long as he took the proper precautions, he’d be fine.

 

Surely.


	8. Conspirators

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news and bad news. Good news is, I finished this chapter way earlier than I thought I would (yay!), bad news is that it's shorter than most... ;_; I also have a very big school project I need to work on. Depending on how things go, the next chapter might be a bit late (I try to update weekly). Thanks for reading!

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Everyone had their own plans, especially since it was their first break. Demo cornered Spy when he left his room to use the facilities and bragged extensively about how shit-faced he was planning to get at the bar. Demo invited him along, but Spy was quick to decline. If Demo drank so liberally on a daily basis, what would his definition of ‘shit-faced’ be?

 

Spy concluded that there would be very little left of the bar (and any neighboring buildings) by the end of the drinking spree. Evidently, Scout didn’t catch on to this vein of logic when he overheard their conversation, and enthusiastically agreed to accompany Demo in Spy’s place.

 

Spy offered up a small mental prayer to the powers that be in hopes that the two of them wouldn’t cause too much destruction. The wrath of a woman scorned was one thing, the wrath of Miss Pauling was another.

 

He avoided Sniper like the plague and stayed in his room for hours.

 

The Medic inquired after him once, but no one answered when he knocked on the door.

 

Spy sat among magazine clippings, flipping through page after page of models, trying to find the right pair of green eyes. But none seemed as bright, nor as menacing. He was forced to settle for one that was close, but not perfect. Then he set to digging through the magazines, looking for butterflies.

 

...

 

When night fell and the base grew quiet, Spy walked to the back of the base and pulled up an empty wooden crate to sit on. With little other light to pollute their glow in the vast Gravel Sea, the stars were brilliantly defined in the sky like the beacons of distant lighthouses.

 

Lucky for Spy, he was not the only smoker among the mercenaries, and it was easy enough to steal a few packs off of an oblivious Soldier (who couldn’t resist collecting anything with a red-white-and-blue motif). Spy used his knife to scrape off the boisterous color palette and assorted americana from the cardboard containers as he puffed contentedly on a cigarette.

 

Smoke flew in wisps into the air, curling and twisting around each other lazily in a gentle dance. With a sigh, Spy tilted his head back and closed his eyes, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and blowing out a plume of smoke. Moments like this, he could almost forget about his nightmares, the Sniper, and how tired he was…

 

Then he felt an invisible hand clap over his mouth.

 

And Spy's mind spun into instant panic.

 

He felt static tickle his face as the cloak dissolved at the contact. The unseen attacker looped his other arm around Spy’s right arm and held it down. Spy instantly began clawing frantically at the hand over his mouth with his free hand, his legs kicking uselessly over the side of the crate he sat on.

 

“Hey! Listen! I’m not going to hurt you!” The BLU Spy spoke with no discernable accent. His tone was hushed and he sounded panicked. “If you promise not to scream, I’ll let you go. Understand?”

 

Spy tried to punch him in the face, but the BLU Spy pulled his head back out of reach.

 

“Look, I don’t like this either, but we need to talk about the Sniper.”

 

Spy stopped struggling.

 

With a relieved sigh, the BLU Spy let go and Spy leapt up from the crate and spun around to face his counterpart.

 

“Sorry about that, but I didn’t want you to call in the cavalry when you saw me,” explained the BLU. He extended a hand, which Spy hesitantly took. His grip was surprisingly strong for such a reedy-looking man. “Wouldn’t blame you, but I’d rather not have to deal with the fallout for getting myself killed after-hours.”

 

“Apologies.” Spy said, still processing that this was the same man who had just put him in a rather impressive hold. “You… said something about the Sniper?”

 

“Right!” He let go of Spy’s hand and grabbed a large metal bucket from where it sat against the wall of the base, flipping it over and using it as a makeshift stool, then motioning for Spy to sit on the crate again. Not wanting to be rude (and still rather confused), Spy obliged.

 

“I saw him shooting at you yesterday. I assume that you’ve been having trouble with him as well?”

 

“...You could say that.”

 

BLU Spy chuckled darkly. “You’re not alone. I can’t drop my cloak for even a second without getting a hole through the head.”

 

“Isn’t that his job?”

 

“That’s what I thought at first. But then I realized that he was shooting me before anyone else, even when he has the perfect opportunity to take out a key target.”

 

“Do you know why he’s doing this?”  


“To be honest? No. Not yet. I’ve tried getting ahold of his file… but whatever’s in there, RED doesn’t want anyone to see it.”

 

“...Do you have a plan?”  


“Plan!? God, no. I have absolutely fuck all.”

 

“Then why are you here?”

 

“I figured _you’d_ have one.” There was a pause, then the BLU Spy burst into uproarious laughter, followed shortly by Spy himself. “Shit, we’re screwed, aren’t we? Totally screwed.” The BLU said through his snickering. “Entirely and utterly fucked.”

 

“Completely. Truly.” Spy added, his own giggling dissolving into involuntary hiccups. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples. The BLU Spy seemed to stop and think for a moment, then he snapped his fingers as if he’d had an epiphany.

 

“I think I have an idea!”

 

“What is it?”

 

“How about we give him a taste of his own medicine? Target him for a few matches, see how he likes it.”

 

Spy considered this. It would be risky, certainly. He’d never even thought about messing with such a vengeful foe.“I don’t know. We can’t possibly predict how he’ll react… it might just make him worse.”

 

“Look, until I can get ahold of his file, this is the best thing I’ve got.”

 

It was a feasible plan, and that was more than what Spy could say for any of his ideas. But there was so much that could go wrong. And did Sniper really deserve it? Maybe they could just try to talk to him. There had to be some other way...

 

_are you just going to let yourself be a victim again?_

 

“...What did you have in mind?”


	9. Through His Eyes

Attacking him was a brash move. The Monster had forgotten so quickly what Sniper was willing to do.

 

It needed to be reminded of its place.

 

Sniper arrived at the spawn room early to prepare. A bit of industrial strength glue on the door of the Monster’s resupply locker meant that it would have to rely on the ammo crates scattered around the battlefield to keep its gun loaded, making it easier to predict its movements. Sniper did not enjoy having to employ such underhanded tactics. Usually a good few headshots was enough to discourage a Monster, but even the ones already underfoot needed to be disciplined from time to time.

 

The other mercenaries all trickled into the spawn room one by one. A few gave Sniper a smile and a nod when they entered, some even approached and made idle small talk. He obliged, if only to satisfy them. They were kind people, but like all the others he’d met, they didn’t recognize the Monster in their midst.

 

When the Monster finally walked through the door, Sniper watched it intently out of the corner of his eye. It saw him watching it, and he gave it a slow smile, the sort that had made it tremble with fright the day prior.

 

But there was no fear on its face. It just stared back at him with a blank expression.

 

_ Not a good sign.  _ That look on a Monster’s face usually meant it was planning something. Then again, what fun was a Monster that didn’t fight back? He let his grin grow wider and he let out a low chuckle to show that he wasn’t intimidated.

 

Surprisingly, it didn't react. It simply walked over to the Medic and began to chat with him. Another act meant to undermine Sniper’s control. His fingers itched to take his gun and shoot the Monster on the spot.  _ Get it away from him, get it away, it’s going to hurt him-  _ He took a deep breath and calmed the thunder in his chest. The storm could wait until the battle had begun and there were no witnesses who had been tricked into thinking it was a man and not a Monster.

 

All talk in the room ceased as the Administrator began to count down the seconds to the battle. Sniper gripped the stock of his rifle, digging his fingernails into the wood. He turned to look at the Monster-

 

**_[FIGHT!]_ **

 

It was already gone.

 

He cursed under his breath, slipping the leather sling of his rifle over his shoulder and breaking into a run. 

 

On the RED side of the bridge where the first point sat was a large wooden building. Sniper had noticed when he had first set foot on the battlefield that it had a number of high windows that would make the perfect vantage points, but to his initial dismay, it had appeared that there was no way to reach them. 

 

At least, not from inside the building. 

 

There was one very low window on the side of the building that he could reach very easily. With some effort, he pulled himself through it. The window opened into a dark, cramped stairwell. The doorway that led into the building’s main room had been boarded up, leaving the window as the only access point. Quietly, Sniper ascended the rickety wooden stairs. He stopped, startled, when he heard the sound of something moving in the space between the first and second floors.

 

_ Just a rat, _ he assured himself. All the same, he quickened his pace up the stairs. 

 

When he reached the room at the top, he made a beeline for the window that looked out over the bridge. Setting up was simple. Spotting the Monster would be a bit harder. He peered through his scope at the bloodshed below. His quarry would not make itself known immediately, but that was fine. He was well-equipped to play the long game.

 

_ It’s only a matter of time. _

 

…

 

_ “You saw where he went?” _

 

_ “Yes… but I can’t get into my resupply locker. I think he did something to it.” _

 

_ “He’s planned something, same as we have... Stay away from ammo crates for now. I’ll share my ammo with you.” _

 

_ “You… You trust me that much?” _

 

_ “I just wanna take this bastard down a few pegs, RED. And hey, you could be killing me right now.” _

 

_ “I suppose you make a good point. What now?” _

 

_ “Just do your job for the moment, and stay out of his line of sight.” _

 

…

 

As the minutes turned into hours, Sniper’s frustration grew. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the Monster, despite having a perfect view of almost the entire battlefield. The BLU one had shown its face several times, and he’d put a bullet through its skull with relish when he could, but he had yet to see his true target. The cloudless sky turned burning red as the sun fell lower and lower.

 

He moved again to the window on the northern side of the room, which looked over a small passageway that led from the RED spawn to the central point bridge. The rest of the REDs, evidently fueled by the anger of losing the previous match, had been locked in a vicious standoff with the BLUs over the central point for hours, meaning Sniper had little cause to move. He was convinced the Monster had to  appear soon. 

 

As he settled himself in front of the window, positioning his rifle just so, he saw the briefest red shimmer of the Monster cloaking in the window of the tin house on the other side of the battlefield.

 

Sniper grabbed his equipment and made for the stairs. He was done waiting. It was time to teach it a lesson  _ now.  _ He took the steps two at a time and vaulted over the windowsill, landing heavily on the dirt.

 

He jogged purposefully towards the BLU side of the battlefield, being careful to stay out of sight. When Sniper finally reached the building, he took great care in approaching the main doorway.

 

So focused was he on his target, he neglected to notice that he had been lured directly into the view of his counterpart. 

 

When he noticed the blue dot travelling up his body, it was almost too late. He rushed into the building, crying out as a bullet tore through his shoulder. Sniper stumbled the rest of the way in and took cover behind the wall.

 

It seemed that he’d intruded on a meeting.

 

The two Monsters, RED and BLU, were standing there in the middle of the room, speaking in hushed voices. Slowly the two turned to face him, with grim determination on the RED’s face and barely-contained indignant fury on the BLU’s. 

 

With uncanny synchronicity, they drew their knives.

 

“You… you traitor!” Sniper spat through the blood that filled his mouth. “Siding with a BLU? Even for a spy, that’s  _ low.” _

 

“Well, what have you ever done to inspire loyalty in me?” the RED Monster hissed.

 

This was not possible. The new Monster was weak and easily intimidated, a fangless cobra. It couldn’t talk with that kind of hatred in its voice.  _ It couldn’t. _ Sniper staggered backwards, reeling, as the Monsters stalked towards him like a pair of cats. His blood ran cold.

 

_ Screams echoing in his ears, following a trail of blood down a darkened hallway. _

 

He reached for his kukri, but the BLU Monster lunged forward and thrust the balisong blade between Sniper’s ribs. He fell backwards to the floor and let out a garbled shout of pain. Through the tears that clouded his vision, he could see the blurry outlines of the Monsters standing over him. The RED one said something, but the buzzing in his ears blocked it out.

 

_ A red-suited figure standing over a limp body, holding a gore-covered wrench that didn’t belong to it, smiling, smiling- _

 

“Monsters…” he wheezed. Blood poured from between his shaking fingers. The world spun in lazy circles. "Evil…You’re evil...Monsters…”

 

The RED one approached slowly. It looked worried, shocked. It reached out a hand.

 

“Don’t touch me! I’ll kill you…” Sniper had meant it to be a low and intimidating growl, but it came out as a quiet, frightened whisper.

 

_ “You’re next, bushman. Wonder how your screams will sound… I’m sure they’ll be enjoyable.” _

 

The hand reached out and took his sunglasses. He didn’t have the strength to fight back. The RED Monster gasped and recoiled.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s his eyes…”

 

“What about them?”   
  


Sniper’s vision faded into black just as he heard the RED Monster say one last thing.

 

**“His eyes aren’t green.”**


	10. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively: “Conspirators 2: Electric Boogaloo” or “The Formation of the Ruin Spy’s Life Committee”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you think YOU don't know what's going on

Within seconds, the Sniper’s body faded into nothingness, and the glasses that Spy held in his hand went with it. He felt his stomach lurch and bile rose in his throat.

 

He’d seen behind those glasses.

 

Gray eyes, frozen in an expression of fear and rage.

 

_ Monsters. _

 

“Are you alright?” The BLU Spy reached out to place a comforting hand on the RED’s back, but thought better of it and retreated. “I don’t understand… why is the color of his eyes so important?”

  
_ Merde.  _ He’d let something slip.  _ Cover it up, cover it up- _

 

“I… I thought for a moment that… that he looked like someone I knew.” He put a tremor in his voice, presenting a weakness that didn’t truly exist.

 

“Oh… shit. I’m sorry.” The BLU Spy replied, worry and sympathy written plainly on his face. Spy relaxed, knowing his lie had been believed.

 

“Did you hear what he called us?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

 

The BLU Spy nodded. “Monsters… kind of a strange insult.”

 

“I don’t think it’s an insult… he believes it.”

 

“Look, before this, I’d never done anything unprofessional to him. Just neat, clean backstabs. Even  _ this- _ ” He gestured to the puddle of blood where the Sniper’s body had been, “Wasn’t really evil. Just fighting fire with fire.”

 

“We haven’t done anything ‘evil’ to him... but another spy could have. And whatever that spy did must have been extreme enough to merit some sort of record.”

 

Understanding dawned on the other spy’s face. “We don’t need his file… we need an incident report.”

 

“Exactly,” he sighed. “Whether we get ahold of it or not, I think we need to leave him alone from now on. It would only give him more reason to target us.”

 

“Right.” The BLU Spy paused. “You do know I’ll have to start killing you again. It’ll look strange if I don’t.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Maybe we can meet up behind the base again after the match... as long as you don’t mind me bumming a smoke.” The BLU said with an awkward grin, extending a hand to shake.

 

Spy hesitated, but eventually small smile crept onto his face and he reached out to take the other man’s hand, giving it a gentle shake. “Of course,  _ mon ami.” _

 

“That means ‘my friend’, right? I didn’t pay attention in French.”

 

Spy chuckled. “Yes, it does.”

 

He’d keep his guard up, wouldn’t let anything else slip. Besides… it had been so long since he’d had a friend.

 

And in the ceiling space above them, a pair of green eyes narrowed in anger.

 

...

 

A once more disheartened team trudged into the base, grumbling about unfairness and (in Soldier’s case) the BLU team’s possible connections to mind-controlling Nazi aliens. There was one, though, who didn’t loudly complain about the loss with the others.

 

Sniper looked  _ enraged. _

 

He glared openly at Spy, face flush with anger, fists clenched and trembling. It was as Spy had feared. He and the BLU Spy hadn’t just kicked the hornet’s nest- they’d beaten it with a stick and danced on the remains. This time, Spy was not the only one to notice Sniper’s odd behavior. He noticed the others looking at Sniper with confusion and worry. Medic, evidently too afraid to approach him, went to Spy instead.

 

“He seems angry with you,” Medic whispered, eyes going from Spy, to Sniper, to Spy again. “What happened?”

 

“I don’t know. Perhaps I accidentally stole one too many of his kills?”

 

“Maybe… I don’t think any of us know him well enough to tell.” He sighed. “Why don’t you talk to him and try to work this out?”

 

_ Never. No thank you. Not in a million years. That is a bad idea and you should feel bad. _

 

“I think he may need some time to cool off. I’ll talk to him later.”

 

Medic smiled and patted Spy on the shoulder.  _ “Viel glück!” _

 

Assuming that was some kind of friendly German phrase, Spy smiled back and retreated with a small wave goodbye, ignoring Sniper’s sharp stare.

 

…

 

As soon as he could, Spy made his way out to the back of the base once more. The BLU Spy was evidently just as eager as he was, as he was there waiting for him. Together they sat in the same places as the last night, steering around the topic of the Sniper in favor of small talk and gossip. The evening slowly grew darker as they chatted, skyward lighthouses winking into existence and the half-filled moon rising steadily.

 

“Have you got anyone waiting for you?” The end of the BLU’s cigarette glowed, illuminating his face slightly with dim orange light.

 

_ “Quoi?” _

 

The other spy blinked. “What?”

 

“Exactly!”

 

Another slow, confused blink, and then understanding. The BLU Spy chuckled. “No- I, I mean like, when your contact’s finished. Is anyone waiting for you on the outside?”

 

Spy paused, considering the question. “I… no. None that I can think of.”

 

“Nobody?”

 

He sat back on the crate, staring up at the moon.

 

It had been a long time since he’d thought about Claud.

 

“Well… a childhood friend. But I don’t know where he’d be now… it’s been years.” He fiddled with his balisong, flipping it open and closed. “Back in France, I suppose… living a normal life.”

 

“Oh? No girlfriend?” The BLU Spy asked with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows and elbowing Spy teasingly, who rolled his eyes in response.  “I figured you for the type of guy who’d have women falling all over him, what with the French accent and all.”

 

_ “...non?”  _ Spy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Didn’t you get the memo? Ladies love a man with an accent!”

 

“I… suppose?” Spy felt as if he was a schoolboy again, listening to the other children discussing who ‘liked’ who. “I’ve never been the most… ah…. romantic.”

 

“But you’re French!”

 

“And?”

 

“France is supposed to be, y’know, the romance country or some shit! Like, uh, you know...” he cleared his throat and began to sing  _ ‘Bella Notte’ _ . He was, rather unsurprisingly, extremely off key.

 

“...that’s Italian.” Spy interrupted.

 

The BLU crossed his arms and huffed. “My point still stands.”

 

Spy snorted and stood, dusting himself off. “The others will be getting dinner soon. I should be doing the same.”

 

“Alright. I’ll see if I can track down that incident report… I’m sure I’ll be able to get ahold of it by the end of the week.” The BLU Spy followed suit. “Stay safe.”

 

“I will.”

 

His counterpart gave him a smile and a thumbs-up, then disappeared. Spy stood silently there for a moment, listening as the BLU Spy’s near-silent footsteps faded away. The night seemed too quiet without his friend there. Unsettled, Spy walked quickly back into the base.

 

…

 

Sniper paced around his van, pounding his fist into his open palm with a steady rhythm.

 

The stars were out, and no clouds blocked his view. On a night like this, he should be watching the sky, picking out the constellations. But he couldn’t. Not while knowing that the Monsters were out there, plotting. He slammed his fist into his palm harder, imagining the impact of his knuckles on the RED Monster’s jaw. It would be easy, so easy to just wrap his hands around its neck and squeeze until its eyes dulled.

 

“Hello.”

 

Sniper drew his hunting knife and whipped around towards the source of the voice. There was someone sitting on the roof of his van. From where he stood, he could only see the other man’s legs, which dangled over the side.

 

“Calm down. I’m a friend.”

 

“The hell you are!” Sniper growled.

 

“Wouldn’t a friend help you take care of those spies?”

 

Sniper’s eyes widened. “What?”

 

“It’s obvious they’re planning something. I’ve seen them together. Talking.”

 

“I knew it. I knew it.” Sniper mumbled to himself, his knife lowering.

 

“You’re only one man, though. And there are two of them.”

 

“...why would you want to help me?”

 

“I hate spies just as much as you do.” The figure leaned forward, and Sniper saw a flash of shining green eyes. “I want to make sure they never hurt anyone, just like you. I want to help you.”

 

“How do I know that’s true?”

 

“Do you want to keep your team safe from them or not?”

 

_ ‘Something’s wrong,’  _ a small voice whispered.

 

“I don’t even know who you are.”

 

“I told you earlier. I’m a friend.” He could hear the smile in the stranger’s voice. “I know you don’t trust me yet. I didn’t expect you too.” The figure extended a hand and tossed something which landed at Sniper’s feet. “Here. A gift. A sign of my goodwill.”

 

Sniper bent down to retrieve it. A small medicine bottle.  _ Etizolam _ . 

 

“Put it in the RED one’s food.”

 

“What is it?” Sniper asked, turning the bottle over in his hands.

 

“To him?” 

 

The figure laughed, a loud and shrill noise that made Sniper’s blood run cold.

 

“A nightmare without end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well neither do iiiiiiii


	11. Before You Hit the Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so my life is kind of completely a mess right now lol. updates will be a little sparse, sorry...

The kitchen was lively despite the late hour. The REDs had become far more comfortable in each other’s company over the past week. Medic had taken it upon himself to make dinner- which turned out to be a pasta dish of decidedly German origin. Predictably, Scout refused to eat it. Medic cheerfully reminded him that as a surgeon, he could make sure it got into Scout’s stomach one way or the other.

 

Scout began to eat and grudgingly admitted it wasn’t that bad.

 

Spy found a plate waiting for him when he arrived. The noodles were chewy and had a bit of a strange aftertaste, but were otherwise enjoyable, and he told Medic as much. Seeing the doctor brighten at the compliment and puff his chest out in pride made Spy smile.

 

“What’s it called?” Soldier asked from across the table, poking at the food suspiciously with his fork.

 

_ “Spätzle!  _ It’s very popular in Ger—” Medic stopped when he saw everyone at the table signaling desperately for him to stop. “...I mean, America! Very popular American dish.”

 

In demonstration of his love for the good old U. S. of A., Soldier began wolfing down the pasta, and everyone in the room gave a collective sigh of relief. Medic sat next to Spy with his own plate.

 

“Close call there,” Spy commented.

 

_ “Ja,  _ I had a bit of a lapse in judgement,” Medic replied with a chuckle.

 

“An understatement if there ever was one…”

 

“You’re used to those, aren’t you?”

 

Spy looked up from his food, brow furrowed in confusion.  _ “Quoi?” _

 

“You know… understatements. Telling people you’re just tired, when you actually feel like you want to die.” Medic’s tone was oddly flat, and yet he wore a wide grin that seemed to take up half of his face.

 

“I don’t understand…” Spy set down his fork, feeling terror start to creep in at the edge of his mind. Why was the rest of the room so quiet all of a sudden?

 

“But you do, don’t you?” Medic stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He seemed taller somehow, towering above Spy.  _ Or maybe I’m just getting smaller..? _ “You understand exactly what I’m talking about, you dirty pig.”

 

“M… Medic?”

 

“You’re still just a stupid little boy, hiding behind those pictures of yours. Your  _ maman  _ just didn’t care enough to tell you that your monsters are real!”

 

_ “Ferme ta gueule! Ferme ta gueule!”  _ Spy cried out, clapping his hands over his ears and shaking his head.

 

**“YOU KNOW IT’S TRUE, YOU SCUM-SUCKING FROG!”** Medic screeched, his voice distorted and crackling as if coming through a broken radio. Covering his ears did nothing to muffle the sound.  **“YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A SNIVELLING COWARD HIDING BEHIND OTHERS!”**

 

_ “Non!” _

 

**“YES YOU ARE! YOU’RE TOO SCARED TO EVEN FACE SNIPER WITHOUT THE BLU SPY! YOU’RE JUST THE SAME AS WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD, RUNNING FROM BULLIES! WHAT, YOU NEED LOTTIE TO COME PROTECT YOU?”**

 

Medic’s face began to twist grotesquely, skin peeling away, nails growing and curling into deadly sharp claws. Spy screamed, falling out of his chair in his desperation to run away. He scrambled to get to his feet and burst through the dining hall door into the hallway. To his horror, the hall extended infinitely in front of him. No matter how fast or how far he ran, there was no end in sight. Spy could hear the thing that wore Medic’s face cackling like a hyena as it tried to catch up to him, taking long and lurching steps.

 

The factory, machinery clanking and whirring, the smell of rust heavy in the air-

 

The dark and cold stone room, clinging desperately to a waning torch-

 

A snowy forest with trees the size of mountains, and thousands of massive butterflies with staring wings-

 

It felt like it would never end.

 

_ Help me- _

 

_ Help me, please, help me! _

 

_ Au secours, _ _ help me, please! _

 

_ Help, please!  _ _ Au secours, hel _ _ - _

 

…

..

.

 

The first thing he registered was the cold, unforgiving metal floor underneath him.

 

He drummed his fingers on it, once, twice, three times.

 

“ _ Gott sei dank!  _ I’m so glad you’re awake!”

 

Spy’s eyes snapped open and he shot upright. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he felt a hand settle on his back to keep him steady. It took some blinking and rubbing at his eyes before the spots cleared and he saw Medic, sitting by his side and looking worried. Before Spy could process where he was or what was going on, Medic grabbed his wrist and began to take his pulse.

 

“How are you feeling? Have you been having chest pains, back pain, or headaches? Open your mouth.”

 

More out of confusion than anything else, Spy’s mouth fell open. Medic took this as compliance and grabbed the sides of Spy’s jaw, peering down into his throat and then humming in satisfaction.

 

“No inflammation...”

 

Spy pushed Medic’s hands away. “What happened?”

 

Medic sat back and gave Spy some space, but his twitching hands betrayed his urge to examine and diagnose. “You passed out in front of the door to your room. You wouldn’t wake up no matter what I did... The only thing I could think of was to send you through respawn.”

 

“You killed me.” It was a statement, not a question. Medic nodded in confirmation.

 

“Respawn uses a constantly updating template to revive someone. If whatever happened to you had any lasting effects on your body or mind, then they’d be added to your template… and I couldn’t take that risk.”

 

“So what happened to me?”

 

Medic sat back, thinking. “Your pupils were extremely dilated, and you were barely breathing at all… judging by your rapid eye movement, I believe you were hallucinating.” He gave Spy a concerned look. “Are you taking any medications?”

 

“...what?” It took Spy a while to register what Medic was implying. When it finally clicked into place, his eyebrows shot up in shock. “No, no! I’m not on any drugs!”

 

“You can be honest with me.” Medic placed a hand on Spy’s shoulder in an attempt at a comforting gesture, while in practice it only made Spy feel patronized. “I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping…”

 

“I haven’t been taking anything for my… problem.” At the incredulous look on Medic’s face, Spy frowned and crossed his arms petulantly. “I’m telling the truth.”

 

“But it’s the only possibility I could think of! All the symptoms point to an overdose.”

 

He stood slowly to avoid becoming dizzy, clenching his fists in barely contained anger. “What time is it?”

 

“Spy-”

 

“What. Time.”

 

Medic sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. “About seven in the morning. Respawn is set to run on low power at night to conserve electricity… it took a few hours for you to reappear.”

 

“One more question… how did you know that something had happened to me?”

 

“Sniper told me. He was worried about you… He seemed rather shaken up.”


	12. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively: "The 'Ruin Spy's Life Committee' Falls Apart Rapidly"

Sniper had followed the Monster when it stumbled dazedly out of the dining room. He found it collapsed in front of the door to its room, and he knew then that the pills had worked. Finally, it had been put in its place. It wouldn’t hurt anyone else. No more plotting in the dark corners, no more looking over his shoulder in worry. 

 

Despite the Monster’s clearly weakened state, he was cautious as he walked closer to better observe what the stranger’s pills had wrought. He stood proudly over the felled body of the Monster, feeling for just a moment like he had made a difference. 

 

It spasmed on the ground, making a low noise of distress from somewhere deep in its throat.   
  


_ ‘Something’s wrong,’  _ that little voice whispered again.

 

Sniper had heard the monster scream from nightmares before, but seeing it was another thing altogether.That little voice in the back of his head slowly grew in volume as he stared down at his conquered foe. He knew that look- the fear of impending death. Not the laughable sort thwarted so easily by respawn, but true, permanent, inescapable death. The voice screamed at him, and he felt his satisfaction and pride crumble.

 

Sniper blinked, and for a moment the thing writhing there on the floor wasn’t a Monster, but a man. A scared, flawed human being.

 

Sniper shook his head and blinked again. His hands trembled. That achingly familiar look of utter dread was still frozen on Spy’s face. A broken whine dragged painfully from the Spy’s throat as his body continued to spasm, eyes locked on something that only he could see.  He had to be doing this on purpose, pretending in hopes of eliciting sympathy. 

 

Because if Spy was just a man… then what did that make Sniper?

 

He wasn’t the monster here.

 

He couldn’t be.

 

He knelt by Spy’s side and grasped his shoulder, shaking him roughly. “Wake up! Get that look off your face!” Sniper meant for it to sound commanding, but it instead came out desperate. “Wake up, you fucking asshole, wake up…”

 

Spy didn’t respond. His eyes stared blankly ahead, pupils blown wide, unseeing. Sniper began to panic, and he slapped Spy across the face with all his strength, leaving a red imprint of his hand across the other man’s face. Nothing. Blank, empty eyes staring into space. Sniper’s breath quickened, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Those fucking pills- he knew that there had to be some ulterior motive. What if the spy died for good?

 

_ Medic will know what to do. He can stop this. _

 

With new purpose, Sniper stood up and ran back towards the dining hall.

 

…

 

Sniper was nowhere to be seen, even as the day’s battle began. Spy was questioning whether he’d even bothered to show up. It was infuriating. He had a million questions and absolutely fuck all in the way of answers.

 

_ “All the symptoms point to an overdose.” _

 

The strange aftertaste in the noodles hadn’t been a result of poor cooking on Medic’s part, then… But who better to poison a meal than the cook? 

Spy had been wrong about Sniper. He could be just as wrong about Medic.

 

He hoped he wasn’t wrong.

 

Still, Sniper’s link to the situation was too prominent to ignore. He had more motive than anyone to try and poison Spy. But then why tell Medic, instead of just leaving Spy to die a slow death? Why poison him in the first place if not to cause lasting damage?

 

The day’s fight had been turning increasingly vicious the longer it went on. The other REDs were infuriated at the loss of their win streak and had come to the battlefield determined to reclaim it. The chaos gave Spy the perfect cover to search for Sniper. 

 

Unfortunately, even with this advantage, he simply couldn’t seem to find the damned man. Every sniping nest, every out-of-the-way haunt, every nook he’d seen Sniper sitting in with a cup of coffee strong enough to wake a person up with its smell alone… was empty. The BLU Sniper, a somewhat pudgy man of indeterminate ethnicity, seemed to have happily made himself at home in a number of his RED double’s usual spots, earning him a backstab whenever Spy came across him.

 

Sniper’s absence was disturbing, because as far as Spy knew, he was a creature of nigh unbreakable habit. The man’s only flaw as a killer was that he tended to rotate between the same set of perches- which, admittedly, had made him easier to avoid, but now it only made Spy nervous. Where in God’s name was he?

 

Where would Sniper hide if he didn’t want Spy to find him? What was the last place a spy would look for a sniper?   
  


_ Somewhere low to the ground. _

 

All of the buildings on the battlefield were supported by tall foundations, made of either wood or concrete. It had been discovered early on that some past team had broken holes into the sides of the foundations, allowing the space that could be comfortably stood up in underneath the buildings to be easily accessed. It was the last place someone would expect a sniper to be.

 

Starting with the buildings on the RED side, Spy began his search anew. The areas were poorly lit with ancient light bulbs that had clearly been installed quickly and cheaply when the spaces had first been discovered and utilized.

 

It didn’t take long to find Sniper.

 

Sniper sat on the ground, fiddling with the safety of his gun with an expression of deep thought. He’d carved rough shapes into the concrete wall of the foundation with his knife. At a cursory glance, they looked like random lines- but as Spy crept closer, he realized they were crude carvings of stars, connected into constellations.

 

Hesitantly, he decloaked and stepped out of the shadows. Sniper’s head shot up. But there was no hate on his face. No anger. He just looked…

 

Scared.

 

The rush of empathy that Spy felt was both confusing and relieving somehow.

 

“Look— I, I just— I knew you were planning something, I was just trying to protect them!”

 

“...what?”   
  


“I— I’m— I thought— you teamed up with that other snake, and I— you were going to— I didn’t mean— I just— you were—!” Sniper made a noise akin to a suffocating whale, and pressed a palm to his forehead.

 

It took Spy a few moments to process the inarticulate babbling. With a deep breath, he finally spoke, voice trembling from fear, but determined despite it. “I just want to know what happened.”

 

Sniper seemed relieved to have a change of topic, no matter how slight. He took a medicine bottle from his vest pocket and tossed it to Spy, who fumbled clumsily to catch it.

 

“Recognize this?”

 

Spy squinted in the poor light to read the label.

 

_ “Take your medicine, mon petit chaton. It will help you sleep.” _

 

“I… I used to take this.”

 

“For your nightmares?”

 

The ground suddenly became very interesting.

 

“Didn’t work, then?”

 

“ _ Non _ —  I mean… no. It just made it more difficult to wake up.”

 

Realization flashed across Sniper’s face.  _ A nightmare without end.  _ He wrapped his arms around himself and looked up briefly at the floorboards above.

 

“I’m not the smartest man in the world, but I hear and see better than most... And I’ve been hearing an awful lot of noise up in the ceiling crawl spaces and seeing a lot of shadows where there shouldn’t be any. I thought it was you and your slimy little friend, sneaking around in the dark, planning on hurting someone else.”

 

“Why would we-”

 

“BECAUSE YOU’RE  _ SPIES _ !” Sniper spat the word like it was poison. “You and your kind are scum! You’re all cheats and thieves and- and  _ murderers _ —” he sucked in a shaky breath, cutting himself off. “But as much as I hate spies… I ain’t stupid. When a shadowy figure comes up outta nowhere saying he’s got the answer to my prayers and a way to put you in your place for good… well, I was already suspicious.”

 

“Someone gave you these?”

 

“I dunno who. It was too dark to tell. I think… they’ve been pitting you and me against each other.”

 

Spy opened his mouth, but Sniper held up a hand and stopped him. “Don’t ask, I don’t know.” He pulled himself to his feet. Spy shrunk back instinctively, but the look of horror and shame and denial on Sniper’s face made him pause. Then the marksman’s expression hardened again. “Make no mistake. There’s no ‘we’ here. I’m not helping you with anything you decide to do. I’ll leave you be… but I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

 

Sniper walked away, looking over his shoulder the whole time.

 

Spy sat down and tried to think, passing the medicine bottle from hand to hand. It was too much of a coincidence. Of all the dangerous medications, that shadowy figure had given Sniper a bottle of Etizolam. Spy hadn’t touched the stuff since he was ten; it wasn’t in his file (as far as he knew), and he hadn’t breathed the name to anyone in his time under RED. It made no sense.

 

Shaken, Spy dumped out the pills onto the dirt and ground them into powder with his heel.


	13. An Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year's, have some ANGST

It was surreal, returning to the fight after that conversation as if nothing happened.  Sniper kept his word, though. There were no more deaths from ‘friendly fire’. It seemed that the truce had extended to the BLU Spy as well- as far as Spy had gathered, his counterpart wasn’t targeted any more than the rest of the BLUs. Balance had been restored, as it were. Though by the looks of things, Sniper was doing far better than most matches. It seemed that he was throwing himself into his work in an attempt to distract himself.

 

Spy buried his head in the sand just much as Sniper, although flitting around the battlefield artfully killing BLUs did little to take his mind off of what happened.

 

Despite this, Spy and Sniper’s enthusiastic return proved to be a morale boost for the REDs, who quickly began to match the two’s skills with their own. BLU was caught off guard. It was, admittedly, somewhat entertaining to watch them all run around like chickens with their heads cut off, overwhelmed and panicking. Although, in Spy’s opinion, is was absolutely not worth the incessant gloating from his teammates.

 

When the loudspeakers announced the RED’s win, a chorus of cheers went up among them. Scout claimed they never should have doubted him, and was rightfully ignored.

 

But before the respawn system returned the teams to their respective bases, there was always a short period where it relieved the losing team of their weapons and allowed the victors to exact their superiority on their hapless enemies.

 

The humiliation round.

 

Spy had never bothered to participate in any of them so far. Either he was lucky enough to be dead before it started, or he retreated to some secluded corner until the round ended, whether his team had won or not. He’d incurred the wrath of too many backstabbing victims intent on avenging their bruised egos to find any satisfaction in doing the same, and on top of that, it felt far too much like bullying. This round was no different.

 

As his teammates rushed off to hunt down whatever BLU had drawn their ire during the match, Spy slunk from the final point towards the RED side of the battlefield.

 

“Hey!”

 

Spy jumped a little, then looked around a bit before his eyes locked on the BLU Spy, waving to him from a comically small space between two buildings. By the looks of things, he appeared to be stuck, wedged between the walls.

 

“Ah… Hello?”

 

“Uh—I hate to ask, but... Could you help me out?”

 

Again, Spy scanned the area around him- this time, for witnesses. When he was satisfied that no one was nearby, he rushed over and began tugging on the BLU’s left arm, trying to pull him out.

 

“How on Earth did you get yourself in there?”

 

“I heard the humiliation round starting and there wasn’t anywhere to hide… I saw this space and I thought I could fit.” He smiled sheepishly. “I, uh, didn’t.”

 

“I can see that. Hold still.” With one final yank, the BLU came free, flopping to the ground like a ragdoll with an undignified ‘oof’. Spy extended a hand and helped him up.

 

“Thanks. You’re a real pal.”

 

 _“_ _Pas de problème, mon ami.”_

 

“That reminds me… I was actually looking for you, before I got… you know.”

 

“Caught between a wall and a hard place?”

 

“Ha ha. Very funny. I wanted to tell you…” He looked from side to side, as if checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned in and spoke in a whisper. _“I found it!”_

 

Spy blinked.

 

“Found… what?”

 

“The incident report! You won’t believe the hoops I had to jump through to get it! They did _not_ want that thing to see the light of day. I don’t have on me, obviously. Couldn’t risk losing it to respawn. But I wanted to let you know to meet me behind your base after the match to look at it together.”

 

Spy blinked again.

 

“You… found it?”

 

That was a lot of information to process after the day’s events.

 

“Didn’t you hear me?” The BLU Spy frowned and gave him a worried look. “Now that I think about it, you don’t look so good. Are you alright?”  


“Yes, sorry. Just tired.” Spy made a show of rubbing at his eyes and yawning.

 

“Come on, I’m not buying that. I’m pretty damn sure you’re _always_ tired.”

 

Spy chuckled. “I’m okay. It’s nothing.”  


“I know that’s not true, but I also know that there is fuck-all I can do to get you to tell me... Besides torture.” He saw the dismayed look on Spy’s face. “Kidding! Kidding.”

 

Both spies turned toward the sound of a nearby explosion.

 

“That’s my cue! There’s probably a few minutes left before the round ends, and I don’t plan on spending it in pieces.”

 

The BLU patted Spy on the back and then dashed off, waving as he went. “See you soon!”

 

Spy smiled and waved back. “See you..!”

 

...

 

Respawn pulled Spy back to the base at the end of the round with the rest of RED. Everyone was far more amicable now that there was the possibility of a restored win streak, but Spy was careful not to get himself caught in any of the preening conversations. He saw Sniper, halfheartedly accepting compliments from a few team members who had noticed his exceptional shooting during the match. The two of them locked eyes for a brief moment, and again, Spy saw pain and grief and denial wash over Sniper’s expression all at once before he looked away.

 

Sniper might not have been planning on targeting him or the BLU anymore, but why he hated spies so much in the first place was still a mystery. And as much as his job title revolved around them, Spy didn’t like mysteries.

 

It was time to get some answers.

 

Though he’d slipped away to the back of the base as soon as he could, Spy knew he’d have to wait awhile for the his counterpart to show up. He had farther to walk, after all. What he wasn’t expecting was at least an hour to pass before the BLU spy’s familiar suited silhouette stepped out from the shadows, holding a manila folder in one hand. With a sigh, the BLU plopped down next to him on the wooden crate.

 

“Sorry I’m late. Medic—er, _our_ medic— keeps fucking disappearing into thin air during the matches, and it’s driving the whole team insane. They held a full-scale intervention! Pyro made a banner and everything. What I don’t understand is where they got so much goddamn glitter glue.”

 

“I’m not even going to ask.”

 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” The BLU held the folder so that it sat comfortably between them. “I… haven’t read it yet,” he admitted. “I figured we should do it together.”

 

It felt a bit like a betrayal, to read something so personal about the Sniper after their ‘talk’. But then again, he hadn’t made any promises. And he was tired of mysteries.

 

It was time to get an answer to something.

 

Spy opened the folder, and the two of them began to read.

 

_1:37 AM, 05/03/1967, RED Sawmill respawn went offline without prior authorization._

 

…

 

_The Sniper was the only one out of bed. He’d been unable to sleep and gone to the dining hall to make coffee, dressed only in fleece pajama bottoms. Even then, a full hour passed before he heard anything suspicious._

 

_Spies are quiet killers, after all._

 

_A scream echoed through the halls of the base. The Sniper shot up from his seat, leaving his coffee at the table. He put a hand to the wall of the corridor, feeling his way along in the oppressive dark. Each step sounded like a loud drumbeat echoing out through the halls as he ran, pounding rapidly against the floor, shattering the silence again and again._

 

_He knew it was the Scout the second he heard that scream._

 

_The Scout, who never seemed to speak more than three words at a time._

_The Scout, who baked pastries for the whole team after every other victory._

_The Scout, who laid motionless on the hallway floor with his chest caved in._

 

_And his team’s Spy, who crouched nearby examining his work with a grin, the Engineer’s blood-spattered wrench clutched in one hand._

__

_“You’re next, bushman. I wonder how your screams will sound…” His smile grew wider as he stood, brandishing the wrench like a club. “I’m sure they’ll be enjoyable.”_

 

_The Spy had always been strange, perhaps a little creepy, but Sniper hadn’t ever considered him a threat. Everyone said or did something odd now and again. But the out-of-place smiles, the stares that lingered a little too long, the gory and unprofessional kills- those had been enough for Sniper to keep his distance from the man. Mercenary work drew in psychos every now and again, but he’d figured that killing the BLUs would keep the Spy entertained._

 

_Even as the Spy approached, Sniper wasn’t looking at him._

 

_The Scout was still breathing. Tiny, wet and gasping breaths escaped his mouth in short bursts. His eyes rolled around wildly in their sockets, legs and arms twitching as his brain fired off wild signals to unresponsive muscles. The Sniper could tell that Scout was trying to scream, but his collapsed lungs couldn’t take in enough air._

 

_The Spy swung his wrench in a wide arc, aiming for the Sniper’s head, and Sniper flung up an arm to block it. There was a grisly crunch as the bones in his forearm snapped like twigs. The adrenaline flooding his system didn’t even give him time to register the pain, and by the time it shot up his arm like an electric shock, he was too enraged to care. He threw a punch with his unbroken arm that hit the Spy in the stomach. The Spy stumbled back, the air knocked out of him. Sniper hit him in the face with another crushing blow, and blood from the Spy’s now broken nose spattered across his knuckles. The Spy swung the wrench again, but this time Sniper caught it and wrestled it from his grip._

 

_In that moment, the look of sick glee and triumph on the Spy’s face melted into fear._

 

_Sniper smashed the wrench against the Spy’s skull, and the body fell to the ground. He stood there for a moment, gripping the wrench with strength he didn’t know he had, panting heavily. It wasn’t until all had gone quiet again that he realized he’d been screaming._

 

_He turned to attend to the Scout… when something grabbed his pant leg. He looked down, and the Spy looked up at him. Before he’d entirely registered it, Sniper was on top of the Spy, driving the wrench into his face again and again until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp. Finally, when the Spy’s body stopped moving, Sniper dropped the wrench._

 

_He picked himself up and staggered over to the Scout’s side, pressing a shaking hand against the Scout’s neck to desperately feel for a pulse, even though he knew that the Scout wouldn’t survive such a wound._

 

_When he ended the Scout’s suffering with one swift blow, he expected him to respawn. He expected the rest of his teammates to come rushing in, having heard the scream just like he did. They’d make sure the Spy didn’t hurt anyone else, and everything would be okay._

 

_He was wrong._


	14. The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or "Get Some Sleep, You Daft French Cunt"

There was a long, tense silence once both of them had finally finished reading.   
  


“Well… it explains why he doesn’t like us.” The BLU Spy said in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.

 

“He… he thought he was protecting the others from us. Not just the REDs… the BLUs as well.”

 

“I think I get it. I wouldn’t want anyone to suffer  _ this.”  _ The BLU gestured to the folder that lay across their laps. This made Spy suddenly realize how close he was sitting to his counterpart, and so he quickly scooted away to put a little space between them. If the BLU Spy took offense, it didn’t show on his face. “But he wasn’t killing me nearly as much during today’s match… why would his behaviour change now?”

 

Spy debted internally whether to tell the BLU about the ‘talk’ he’d had with the Sniper. The pills, how could he explain the pills? And if he explained the pills, he’d have to explain the figure in the ceiling, and the nightmares...

 

“...perhaps he’s beginning to realize we are less of a danger than he thought.”

 

“But it’s been over a year since… since  _ that  _ happened. Wouldn’t he have met some other spy who’d have changed his mind?”

 

“If a dog killed several of your friends or family members, you’d probably begin to hate dogs, correct?”

 

The BLU Spy seemed a little shaken and confused by the seemingly unrelated and grim notion, but nodded his assent.

 

“And if a dog ever acted aggressively towards you, even if it wasn’t intentional or if you misunderstood its behaviour, then it'd only cement your hatred of dogs further, wouldn’t it?”

 

Understanding dawned on the BLU Spy’s face, and he nodded once more. “We just need to leave him alone, then. Give him some space to think.”

“Right.”

 

There was another long silence, as if they were in attendance at a funeral. The tragedy they’d just learned of seemed to weigh down the air, making every breath harder than the last. The oppressive weight eased when the BLU finally spoke again, desperate to lift the somber shroud that had descended over the two of them.

 

“You need to get some sleep tonight. You look awful.”

 

Spy furrowed his brow. “I’m—”

 

“You are absolutely not fine. I’ll punch you if you say you are.”

 

“But I’m—”

 

The BLU Spy raised a fist. “Don’t think I won’t! You’re seriously starting to worry me.” He sighed, letting his hand fall back onto his lap. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but believe me when I say you seem like you need help.”

 

Spy stiffened. “Help? I don’t need help, I can handle myself.”

 

“No, that’s not what I—” The BLU Spy groaned in frustration and put his head in his hands. “I always seem to end up with my foot in my mouth when I’m not pretending to be someone else...”

 

Spy’s expression softened and his posture relaxed slightly as he let out a quiet chuckle.

 

It was true, he’d only known the BLU Spy for about a week. But his counterpart seemed to be… genuine. Time would tell if Spy’s gut had judged the BLU correctly, but at that moment… he felt as if the other man really did care for him.

 

Maybe it was time to put his trust in someone again, if only just a little.

 

Spy patted the BLU Spy’s back hesitantly. “It’s alright. But I’ve had problems sleeping for… a long time. One attempt at a good night’s rest isn’t going to cure me.”

 

“But it’ll help, won’t it?”

 

Spy paused. “It might.”

 

“Give it a shot then. Drink some warm milk, steal some extra pillows...” The BLU Spy sat up and gave his counterpart a small smile. “Otherwise, the lack of sleep will kill you faster than the cigarettes.”

 

And like that, the pall seemed to lift, and Spy smiled wryly.

 

“I know perfectly well that you smoke almost as much as I do.”

 

“Give me a break! You always seem to have an unlimited supply!”

 

“Technically, I ran out almost as soon as I got here. I’ve been stealing the rest.”

 

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll be fired for that?”

 

They both stared at each other briefly, then began to laugh uncontrollably.

 

“That— oh, that’s rich.” Spy wheezed. The BLU Spy, meanwhile, was laughing so hard that tears had begun to slip from the corners of his eyes.

 

“Fired for stealing! Can you imagine!” The BLU put up his hands daintily and put on a comically exaggerated expression as if he were an offended nobleman. “I’m sorry sir, but we’re going to have to let you go. No, not for murdering someone, that’s— or, well, _was_ — your job! It’s because you’ve been stealing cigarettes. We’re ashamed of you. Absolutely disappointed.”

 

_ “Oh putain de merde,  _ stop— I can’t breathe—”

 

“We expected better from a professional mercenary. Stealing! It’s illegal, you know! You could be  _ arrested _ for this!”

 

_ “S’il vous plait,  _ stop, I’m begging you!”

 

“Alright, alright, but only because you said ‘please’.” The BLU furrowed his brow. “Or, at least, I assume that was ‘please’.”

 

“It was, don’t worry!” Spy wiped at his face as his laughter calmed.

 

“Good, I thought I might have made myself look stupid. More than usual, I mean.”

 

“You’re no more stupid than I am.”   
  


“Then I must be  _ really  _ fucking stupid.”

 

Spy gave him a blank, unamused stare.

 

“Okay, I get it!” The BLU Spy pulled himself up and off the crate. “Your teammates are probably getting dinner right about now. Go get yourself something to eat, yeah? Can’t sleep on an empty stomach.”

 

“I will.” Spy got up as well, shaking the BLU’s hand in way of a parting gesture.

 

With a tip of his nonexistent hat, the BLU Spy disappeared.

 

Maybe it was an act. Maybe their friendship was nothing more than a sham. Maybe the BLU was cozying up to Spy so he could stab him in the back later.

 

_ “...or maybe I’m just overthinking it.” _

 

…

 

Dinner was… nice. Sniper didn’t make an appearance, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He tended to eat alone anyway. Despite that, Spy couldn’t make himself look at the marksman’s usual chair.

 

The Pyro had taken it upon themselves to prepare that night’s meal, much to the team’s initial dismay. Spy was unsurprised when the meal they produced ended up being pancakes with sprinkles and whipped cream. The surprising part was that the sugary meal turned out unburnt and surprisingly edible looking.

 

_ “Pyro  _ made this?” Scout asked incredulously, poking at his pancake with a fork.

 

Pyro said something that sounded vaguely like a muffled “I’m right here, you know.”

 

The REDs watched with bated breath as Scout raised a forkful to his mouth and began to hesitantly chew. Spy heard him say ‘holy shit’ through the mouthful of food.

 

“Scout, please don’t talk with your mouth full,” Medic interjected.

 

Unfortunately, the rest of the team was already digging into their respective plates with reckless abandon and talking to each other loudly through mouthfuls of pancake. Medic looked like he was on the verge of having an aneurysm, but after sharing a sympathetic glace with both Spy and Heavy (who were dutifully chewing with mouths closed and elbows off the table), he sighed and dug into his food with the grace and table manners of an old queen.

 

When everyone had finished their meals, one by one heading to their rooms and leaving plates stained with maple syrup on the table. Medic, who usually did the dishes after dinner and breakfast, was exhausted from the heated battle and had instead left the task to Spy. Once the room had emptied, he gathered the dishes and utensils and began washing up.

 

When he was about halfway through, the door to the dining hall creaked open, and he knew without looking that it was Sniper.

 

There was a tense silence. No footsteps. No talking. Just the sound of the faucet running and plates clinking against each other as Spy continued to mechanically wash and dry the dishes. He felt the hairs on his back rising. Despite every instinct, he did not turn around, instead taking great care as he slightly tilted his head to catch a glimpse behind him.

 

Sniper was standing in the doorway, looking absolutely horrified. Obviously, he’d not been expecting Spy to be there.

 

“Cereal’s in the top cupboard to the far right,” Spy heard himself say, keeping his eyes locked on Sniper.

 

“How—”

 

“I’ve made plenty of late-night meals myself. Cereal is usually a safe bet.” Spy set a clean plate down next to the sink more forcefully than he’d meant to, and it clattered noisily against the cheap aluminum countertop. He heard footsteps as Sniper walked out of his view. Spy turned to see him rooting around in the cupboard a few feet to his left, occasionally shooting a glance at Spy and very poorly trying to hide his apprehension. After a moment, Sniper pulled a box of off-brand cereal from the depths of the cupboard and headed for the door. It seemed that he’d rather steal the whole box than get anywhere near Spy, who was standing directly next to where the dishes and utensils were kept.

 

There was a question rattling around in Spy’s mind, another answer that he wanted. It was risky. But he was less afraid of Sniper now that he knew his motivations.

 

“Why… Why did you bring Medic?”

 

Sniper paused in his retreat. “...what?”

 

Spy turned to face him. “You were the one that drugged me in the first place. Why would you help me?”

 

Sniper made a noncommittal noise and stared at the floor.

 

“I just… don’t understand.”

 

“I… I didn’t know what those pills would do.” Sniper’s hands began to tremble. “I— I thought if I left you like— like that— you might have died for good. I’m not— I just—” It was like he was hitting a mental wall as his sentences broke down. “It… it’s complicated.”

 

Spy nodded knowingly and turned back to the dishes. “We’ll talk again. When we’re both ready.” Telling Sniper that he and the BLU Spy had snooped around for an incident report would have only exacerbated the situation. If Sniper wanted to tell Spy about why he’d truly done what he’d done... Spy would let him do it of his own accord.

 

Surprise crossed Sniper’s face. “Don’t you… hate me?”   
  


“I did,” Spy said pointedly, placing the last clean dish on the pile and stowing them in the proper cupboard. “But not anymore.”

 

He gathered himself, and then walked past the Sniper into the hall.

 

Sniper stood there, lost in thought, for some time before finally resuming his retreat to his camper van.

 

…

 

Spy stared at his bed.

 

He felt no dread claw at his chest. No fear of the dreaming world. He was just… tired. Spy drew himself under the covers and let his eyes fall shut.

 

He could just barely hear his mother singing a lullaby.

 

_ “Au clair de la  lune, mon ami Pierrot… prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot…” _


	15. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or “In Which a Daft French Cunt Attempts to Get Some Sleep, With Mixed Results”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I've been super busy. Just started a new semester, and my classes are kicking my butt. Also, depression. But if it's any consolation, Spy's not doing any better!
> 
> btw, i ought to credit my proofreader, iloveteamfortresstoo, more often... they've looking over all my chapters, and i can't thank them enough!

_There was something sticky and tar-like rising up around his waist that clung to his clothes and skin. The more he kicked and struggled, the more it sucked him further down. His shoulders sank beneath the viscous substance, then his neck. He tilted up his chin in a desperate attempt to keep his head out of the tar as it welled up around his face._

 

_Finally, his head was submerged, and everything faded into darkness._

 

...

 

1:43 AM

 

Spy woke up.

 

His half-asleep mind struggled to take in his surroundings. The room was dark, almost completely pitch-black, and for a moment he was convinced that he’d opened his eyes to a room filled with the tar that had drowned him in his dreams. But when he took a breath, his lungs filled with air instead of thick, black sludge. Relieved, Spy shut his eyes again and tried to fall back asleep.

 

The ceiling boards creaked, and Spy wondered groggily if the nighttime desert winds were strong enough to cause it.

…

 

_He was sitting at the dining table. His mother, humming a familiar tune, set a plate in front of him. To his confusion, there was nothing on it._

 

_“Mama, where’s breakfast?”_

 

_She gave him a confused look as she pulled a carving knife from the pocket of her apron._

 

_“It’s right here.” She explained, and began to slice strips of meat off of her own arm and onto his plate._

 

…

 

2:18 AM

 

Spy woke up.

 

He lay there, still as he could make himself, clutching the blankets to his chest as he caught his breath. Again, all that greeted him was a dark and empty room. His heart refused to calm for what felt like an eternity, and he tried in vain to shake the image of his mother carving off chunks of her own arm without so much as wincing.

 

When his pulse finally stopped pounding in his ears, Spy turned onto his side and settled back down. As his eyelids fell shut, he caught a glimpse of his nightstand. Something registered as vaguely out of place, but he couldn’t quite put together what exactly was wrong in his fatigued state. It felt as if he were staring through a window clouded by frost, leaving the outside world distorted and dreamlike.

 

It was easy for for his exhausted mind to miss the absence of his pistol from the nightstand.

…

 

_There was a crow sitting on the windowsill. It stared at him with wide green eyes as it hopped closer to him._

 

_“Why don’t you recognize me?” It squawked in a shrill imitation of his voice._

 

_“I-- What?” He took a step away from the window, confused and frightened._

 

 _It shrieked in anger, flaring its wings and leaping at him with talons extended. Hundreds of screeching crowsburst through the window, pecking and clawing at each other in a desperate fight to reach him._   


_He screamed in tandem with the horrific horde of birds, throwing up his arms in a futile attempt to ward off the onslaught of enraged crows._

…

 

3:22 AM

 

Spy woke up.

 

He looked instinctively towards the wall that faced the outdoors, where a window would usually be. The window frame that was there had been boarded up long ago, and only the barest slivers of moonlight seeped through. He couldn’t imagine a crow fitting though those miniscule spaces between the boards, which was oddly comforting.

 

Spy turned over onto his side, tucking one hand under the pillow and wrapping his fingers around the small pocket knife he’d hidden there. He ran his thumb along the engraved handle, the familiar dips and edges of the weapon.

 

The faint sound of someone else breathing coming from beneath the bed blended in seamlessly with Spy’s own.

 

…

 

_Even at a glance, he could tell that there was something seriously wrong with the river. Mud and algae choked the river, and it moved so slowly that it could barely even be called a river. The trees that surrounded it were no better. Their trunks had rotted considerably, and the leaves that still clung to their branches were long since dead._

 

_He leaned down to get a closer look at the dark, foul-smelling water. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t see through it in the slightest. Despite the apparent shallowness of the river, the bottom was completely obscured. A ripple traveled across the water’s surface._

 

_That was all the warning he got before a clammy hand thrust itself out of the water and gripped his ankle, yanking him forcefully into the river._

 

…  


4:11 AM

 

Spy woke up.

 

For a split second, he was relieved to be awake and not drowning horribly. He noticed the feeling of a weight on the bed, and was briefly confused.

 

Then he realized.

 

_Someone was sitting on his bed._

 

The cheap mattress dipped slightly where the intruder perched on the edge, and Spy could hear the faintest sound of fingers drumming rhythmically against the mattress.

 

Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream. His entire body screamed at him to get up and run. Despite this, he stayed as still as he could make himself, keeping his breathing steady and calm, focusing on making it appear as if he were still asleep. As slowly as he could, he opened his eyes the slightest amount. The room was still incredibly dark, and worse yet, Spy’s back was involuntarily facing the trespasser.

 

What was the intruder’s plan? He wasn’t there to kill Spy, or he’d already be dead. Nor was he there to root through Spy’s belongings, as any sensible thief would have already done their snooping and fled as quickly as possible rather than sit around.

 

Spy’s fingers shifted, and that’s when he remembered the pocket knife. He tightened his grip around its handle.

 

“I know you’re awake.” The intruder spoke quietly and calmly, with a heavy French accent similar to Spy’s own. Spy felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the back of his head. “Don’t try anything.”

 

Spy swallowed, mouth dry.

 

He knew without having to look that the intruder was staring at him with two shining green eyes.

 

“I noticed you’ve been getting very comfortable with that BLU spy,” The intruder commented. His impassive, neutral tone took on a slight edge at the mention of the BLU. “Found a replacement, have you?”

 

“Replacement?”

 

“I know you don’t recognize me, _mon ami._ But you’ll figure it out eventually.” The intruder tapped the gun’s barrel painfully against Spy’s skull. “You’ve got at least _some_ brains knocking around in there.”

 

“You--”

 

The intruder shushed him as is he were a disobedient child. “It’ll all stop when you remember who I am.”

 

“Why don’t you just… tell me?”

 

Laughter, condescending and grating. “That would be cheating. You have to _earn_ my forgiveness.” The gun pulled away from Spy’s head, and the mattress springs creaked as the intruder stood. “I’ll be watching, _mon ami._ I’m always watching. That piss-throwing bushman might not be willing anymore... but I'll get my hands dirty if I have to."

 

Spy shot up, brandishing the knife, but all he saw was the intruder’s legs as he pulled himself up into the ceiling, using the nightstand to reach it.

 

Spy didn’t fall back asleep this time.


	16. Support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the length and time it took to write this chapter! for whatever reason, i just had a super hard time getting this one done, and i've not been feeling my best. ILoveTeamFortressToo, as always, helped me out a ton!
> 
> this chapter isn't my greatest work, but i hope you enjoy! again, so sorry about the wait!!!

Spy didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore. 

 

Granted, he didn’t feel safe in most places to begin with. But now, nowhere felt safe.

 

Before anyone else was up, he’d stolen a hammer and nails, a small stepladder, and a board from the Engineer’s workshop. It was a simple matter to get them to his room. The challenging part was nailing the board onto the ceiling, and doing so without waking anyone up. He struggled to hold the board in place as he tried to quietly hammer a nail into it.

 

After dropping the board on his head and climbing back down the ladder to hunt for lost nails under his bed multiple times, Spy finally managed to nail the board over the place in the ceiling he’d seen the intruder exit through. He felt a thrill of accomplishment, despite the bent, poorly hammered nails and the crooked placement of the board.

 

Spy realized that he didn’t know if there were any other loose ceiling boards that could be pulled out of place. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so proud of himself. 

 

He sat down heavily on his bed and stared down at his shoes.

 

Spy felt the urge to throw an explosive, childish tantrum. Wake everyone in the base and scream at them, one-by-one, just for the sake of making noise. Stamp his feet! Wail and cry until his voice gave out! 

 

Tempting, but it would accomplish exactly nothing. 

 

Spy settled for screaming into his pillow, then tossing into a corner when he ran out of breath.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

He dragged himself off the bed and looked down at the nightstand, his pistol still missing from it. Anger clawed at him, digging sharp talons into his chest. It was a welcome relief from the fear. Spy’s favorite pistol, with its simple but elegant design, the grooves worn into the wooden handle by his fingers from years of use. Gone. Even more infuriating, it could very well have been the very same gun that the intruder had threatened him with.

 

Spy stormed over to the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob to look up at the board haphazardly nailed to the ceiling.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

He pulled open the door and scanned the hallway-

 

And locked eyes with a very confused Sniper standing at the far end of the hall.

 

They both froze, staring at one another with wide eyes. Oddly, the Sniper looked more afraid than Spy did. Of course, he was more used to feeling unsafe everywhere he went.

 

“Hey,” Sniper said, giving a small, awkward wave.

 

_ “Bonjour,”  _ Spy replied automatically.

 

There was another long silence.

 

“I’m going to just… go…” Sniper turned and began to power-walk back down the hall.

 

“Wait.” Spy left his room and shut the door behind him.

 

“Look, I don’t think now is the right time for that ‘talk’ you were on about last night-”

 

“No, it’s not--” Spy groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re the only other person who I can discuss this with.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Not here. I’d rather not be overheard.”

 

Sniper’s gaze narrowed. “And I’d rather not be stabbed in the back where no one can hear me scream,” he snapped. “I still don’t trust you entirely.”

 

Though Spy didn’t say it aloud, he felt the same.

 

That presented a challenge. There was a chance, however slim, that another of the REDs might wake and come stumbling through the halls for one reason or another. The last thing Spy wanted was to involve more people. But by the look on Sniper’s face, the marksman wasn’t going to budge.

 

“You’re the only other person who knows about the…” Spy took a deep breath to compose himself. “...the man in the ceiling.”

  
Realization dawned on Sniper’s face. “What happened?”

 

Spy nodded. “Broke into my room last night.”

 

“Oh my fucking God. Piss.” Sniper has to stop himself before he devolved into cursing incomprehensibly. 

 

“Given the circumstances, I doon’t think anyone’s god has anything to do with this.” Spy said with a bitter edge.

 

“What did he-“

 

“Held my own gun to my head and spouted threats,” Spy spat, rubbing his temples in frustration. “I’m tired of cowering. I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut about this-- this  _ crap _ . I want to do  _ something. _ And as much as it pains me to say it... I can’t do it alone.”

 

“You want  _ my  _ help?” Sniper’s frown deepened, incredulous. “Wouldn't you prefer that friend of yours? The BLU?”

 

“I never told him about it. How could I explain it to someone who hasn’t seen, or at least heard anything? He’d never believe me.”

 

They both stared at each other.

 

“It… It sounds to me like you’re dealing with another spy. Or, at least, someone who used to be one. Crawling up in the ceiling sounds like something one of you might think up. I mean--” Sniper awkwardly looked down into his coffee cup. “Point is, the ceiling space makes for a good route for getting from point A to point B unharmed. The other classes don’t have much use for staying out of sight, snipers and medics being the exceptions... Force him to take a certain route, get a sticky bomb up there on the ceiling, and you could blow the floor-- er, ceiling-- right out from under him.”

 

Through the haze of exhaustion and irritation, Spy could almost see the light bulb go off in his own mind.  _ Brilliant. _

 

“I’ll be willing to help you. But it’s only because I don’t want  _ anyone  _ thinking that they can break into my team’s base, threaten one of my teammates, and just  _ get away with it.”  _ Sniper looked back up at Spy, determination set in stone on his face. “Got it?”   
  


Spy nodded. “We can’t do it today…”

 

“Naw, you’re right, it’d take too long to plan out.”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Sniper confirmed.

 

With that, they went their separate ways.

 

Medic’s door creaked open not long after they were gone, and the man himself walked out, having listened to every word.


	17. HIATUS

Hey guys! I’m really sorry I’ve been inactive these past few weeks. Depression and writer’s block has been hitting me really hard. I’ve been beating up on myself for not writing, and at this point it’s getting unhealthy.

There’s always that little part of me that says I’m worthless whenever I have trouble writing. It’s been getting a lot louder lately. The deadlines I tried to set for myself only served to give it more ammo, more reasons it can try to use to prove that I’m useless.

So for now, I’m abolishing those deadlines. The chapter will be finished when it’s finished, and no sooner. Once I’m feeling better, I’ll try and start posting once a week again.

I’m not sure when the next chapter will be ready, but I promise you I won’t forget about it. I love you all, and your kind words are always the highlight of my day when I post a new chapter.

Thanks for reading,

CoffeeParadox


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